Alexia Tarabotti would not be moved from the punch bowl. She had selected her station for the evening and would wallflower there with the best of them. She should be good at it by now; it was all she ever did at a party. And in this instance, as it was remarkably tasty punch, any relocation seemed fraught with fruitlessness.
Under normal circumstances, Alexia would have been put off by the disreputable state of the sandwich, but it was meant so kindly and offered with such diffidence, she could do nothing but accept. It was actually rather tasty.
Her mother’s face was all thunderclouds. “Give up stays, indeed! With your figure? To think, you’ve been dancing without support. Lordy, lordy. The uncontrollable wobble of it all!
I’ll do it,” insisted Arsenic, helping Percy to rise. He supposed a thousand Englishmen around the world cried out that he took aid from a woman, but he was never one to accept lightly the illogicality of custom. Tradition seemed to him a poor excuse for inconvenience. Also he rather enjoyed her fussing over him.
This resembled hedgehog fur so precisely that Percy, who rarely noticed fashion, was struck momentarily speechless by the shocking similarity between this hat and his mother’s Erinaceinae nature.
I prefer dusters. They’re so pleasingly feathery and round, and they can be twirled. No man in this village would abide a twirling.
She was all tall muscled power, full bloom and without guile. Lord Akeldama was composed entirely of guile.
Rearranging furniture was leagues better than seducing people.
To Percy’s delight, Arsenic staunchly resisted developing any possible chatterbox tendencies. Their long silences might have become uncomfortable, except for their mutual joy in quiet and the ameliorating presence of Footnote. The cat divided his time between them. He showed a marked preference for Arsenic’s lap and Percy’s feet, and happily basked in the attention of whichever human was most easily distracted at any given moment.
If you’re staying, I’m staying,” insisted the best of all possible friends.
She’d never judge. She wasn’t remotely like that. She’d judge a man’s throw pillows, but not his family.
Auribus teneo lupum.” “No Latin! You know I can’t abide Latin during unsustainable situations!
Was she ill? Or was she going to kill someone? He considered. It was late. Plenty of time to have killed someone already.
The fact that he’d become withdrawn and insular was no surprise to Percy. He’d few examples of affection to call upon. Aunt Alexia and Lord Maccon being the singular exception. Their marriage, to his outside eye, had always been combative but never lacking warmth. Percy could admit to himself, if not to Arsenic, that he was attracted by their model of a profound and loving relationship, if perhaps hoping for a little less rushing about and banging of heads together.
Ut acerbus terminus. To the bitter end.
Desperately Dimity mentioned badminton. I mean to say, who doesn’t have opinions on badminton? Everyone has opinions on badminton.
Leap first, everything else later was her motto.
Writers are the modern vanguards of narrative, and as such, we are in a dangerous position of power.
Well, you shouldn’t go around being nasty when the rest of us are armed with nibbly bits, should you?
Dimity referred to Monique in the doorway. “Saw your nicely strung-up slab of bacon.” “Don’t insult bacon,” said Sidheag.