A Symphony of Echoes (The Chronicles of St. Mary's #2)

by Jodi Taylor

They were holding my arms, but I still had feet. I kicked her hard. It would have been more effective if she’d been a man, but it still hurts if you’re female. I tore myself free from the suddenly loosened grip of my guards and waded in. When you really hate someone, judgement and good sense just fly straight out of the window. And I really hated Bitchface

It’s no good moaning about what evil bastards they were. Men like that would see that as a compliment. Far better to regard them as an insignificant pimple on the arse of your success, don’t you think?’

They need someone like you. They can identify with you. You’re one of them. You sent them to bed in a happy frame of mind. You’ve just organised breakfast.’ ‘For God’s sake, you make me sound like their mother.’ ‘Well, that’s not so far off, is it? They’re children; they’re frightened, shocked, and hurt.

Don’t say thee and thou unless you want to be laughed at as old-fashioned and anyone uttering the word ‘forsooth’ in my hearing will be consigned to Professor Rapson to play the lead role in his “How many times could the Druids actually wind a person’s entrails around a sacred oak tree?” experiment.

It wasn’t raining yet, but it would soon – the clouds were so low that even I was nearly banging my head on them.

Which could mean we were hurtling to hell in a handcart with unnecessary haste.