To Say Nothing of the Dog (Oxford Time Travel, #2)

by Connie Willis

Infatuation was a lot like time-lag, an imbalance of chemicals, cured by a good night’s sleep.

“Get forward. Open your knees. Keep her head out. Remember your seat.” There is nothing more helpful than shouted instructions, particularly incomprehensible ones. I did my best to follow the ones I could understand, which consisted of, “Open your knees,” and was rewarded by Terence shouting, “No, no, no! Bring your knees together! Feather! You’ll catch a crab! Head up!”

I had gotten so used to having people say nonsensical things to me in the last few days that it didn’t even faze me.