Copper Script

by K.J. Charles

According to Aaron’s hasty reading, such luminaries as Disraeli, Sir Walter Scott, and Robert Browning had believed in the power of graphology, but they were a pack of writers and not to be relied on for common sense.

He hadn’t served in a war for people to go around not offering other people tea.

“That specific detail—you cannot claim that’s the same as a rose bed. People don’t do that.” “Apparently your cousin does. I didn’t think much of him,” Joel added. “I’d choose my cousins more carefully if I were you.”

“Supporting our wounded heroes is one of many things that people feel passionately must be done, by somebody else.”

Aaron shut his eyes. He’d found Wildsmith by turn bewildering, provocative, alarming, infuriating, arousing. He thought this kindness might be the most devastating facet yet.

He’d wanted to make things better in a world that screamed for help, and he’d sacrificed so much for that and been so lonely, and he wished he could say, It was worth it.

“Pudding?” “What?” “They do delicious puddings here. Would something sweet help?” “My life is falling apart and you’re recommending pudding.”

“No. I don’t want your gratitude, your thanks, or your obligation,” Joel said. “I simply want wholehearted admiration of my courage, integrity, and intelligence, which can be demonstrated by a good shagging at any time.”