He died in the middle of our conversation. How rude.
You are about as covert as a sledgehammer.
His eyes are peculiar. There is nothing in them, like an eclair without the cream filling. It's wrong, lack of cream.
The duke contents himself mainly with attempting to rule the world and other suchlike nonsense. When one is guiding the patterns of the social universe, a single spinster preternatural is unlikely to cause one undue distress.
Who doesn’t want an exploding wicker chicken?
Lord Maccon asked meekly, shifting against her in a manner that ensured she realized the nibbling had affected his outsides just as much as her insides. Alexia was partly shocked, partly intrigued by the idea that as he was naked, she might actually get to see what he looked like. She had seen sketches of the nude male, of course, for purely technical purposes. She was given to wonder if werewolves were anatomically bigger in certain areas.
Classic author moment, "Oh dear, did I kill that character or not?
1946, if my memory is correct. Harry "The Cat" Brecheen went against the Red Sox in Game 7. I stayed home to listen, practically had my head inside the radio.
[In my writing] I know that I have made a caricature out of [others' academic] theories [but] I think that caricatures are frequently good portraits.
I have to admit that I don't even try to speak Russian, though I understand it perfectly. I wouldn't want to insult the language by testing out my pronunciations
Greece, sound, thy Homer's, Rome thy Virgil's name, But England's Milton equals both in fame.