The Whispering Skull (Lockwood & Co., #2)

by Jonathan Stroud

A sneer on legs.

If she’d repeatedly fallen over while crossing soft ground, you could have sown a crop of beans in the chin holes she left behind.

Lockwood shook his head. “No, I’d always be tripping over him, or losing him down the back of the sofa.

the mustache jutted out like a windsock in a gale.

The worst fight ever. They knocked one another’s glasses off, and spent half the time crawling around trying to find them.

“Man to man, my eye,” Kipps snorted. “It was like seeing two schoolgirls squabbling over a scented pencil.