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Your cousin confesses his sins first, and then he confesses yours—a much longer list—after which he pushes aside the curtain so I might reassess the scar on his forehead.” “He confesses my what?” “Have no fear, Miss Lion”––and Hawkes quirked an eyebrow upward––“you’ve become one of my favourite members of the parish. Your sins are simply marvellous.
Lord Stringham will always pay closer attention if he thinks you are going to choke. Good man.”
THE VERY LITTLE I KNOW ABOUT YOUR LIFE EXHAUSTS ME.
“I’ll meet you on the balcony. It’s the safest place. Aunt Eugenia doesn’t believe in balconies. She thinks they make light of the law of gravity.”
I was not created for a life of criminality.
There it was again. Ah. It was not a This is a quality card ah. Nor a Now I know who you are ah. No. It was an I should have known ah. Never trust a man who can say so many things with a single syllable.
There is something about all that green, as seen through the glass window of a train, that makes one feel as if they were the character in a book. Mine would be a tragic comedy.
I hit him. I took one of the volumes and hit him soundly on the head. (That makes the third man in fewer months I have assaulted with a book.)
If you squint, the weeds look like flowers.
Upon entering the salon, Mr. Pierce opened all the curtains. People say all the time to throw open the curtains, but no one actually ever does it. They simply open them. Well. Mr. Pierce threw open the curtains.
