The Unselected Journals of Emma M. Lion: Vol. 2

by Beth Brower

“Yes, I’ve had one installed. 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. Well, a good morning to you.”

I loathe Roland Sutherland. But I worry I might come to tolerate him.

“Only who is that man and how do you know him? He gives me a shiver up and down my spine.” “That, Roland, is because you are made of the sun. He would spoil your pleasant weather.”

“If I cannot worship in a majestic building, I have no interest in the practice,” she snipped. Which I assume is not a direct quote from the New Testament.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in a crypt somewhere, for your sins?” Islington asked in a ducal tone. “They evicted me,” I snapped. “Who?” “The dead.”