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“Nevernight,” he muttered. “Stupid name for a book.”
“It has footnotes? What kind of wanker writes a novel with footnotes?”
“It’s not a novel,” Aelius replied, sounding wounded. “It’s a biography.” “About who?”
“You know what they say. What doesn’t kill me had better fucking run.”
you jizz-gargling fuckbuckets!
“Autonomous fucking collective?” BigJon looked Sid up and down. “What kind of backward-arse shit-brained government is that? Sounds a recipe for chaos to me.”
Face like a picture and an arse like a poem.
“Don’t fuck with librarians, young lady. We know the power of words.”
Love often rusted into hate when watered with scorn.
Mia had told Cloud Corleone he was under no obligation to wait for her return. With the Black Banshee at the bottom of the Sea of Sorrows and his friendship with Mia well-known, the pirate had decided he’d sail back to Godsgrave and lie low until the succession war over the Throne of Scoundrels was settled.
One had pages edged in blood-red, a crow embossed on the cover. The second was edged in blue, embossed with a wolf. The last, trimmed black and spattered white, with a cat gracing the front.
Some answers are learned. But the important ones are earned.’”
“You know, it’s actually not a bad read. I mean, if you don’t mind footnotes and a fuckload of cursing.”