The Sweet Far Thing (Gemma Doyle #3)

by Libba Bray

Her stiff skirts whisk-whisk across the floor as if to rebuke it for lying there.

Elizabeth, who is nothing more than a nervous condition disguised as a debutante, yelps and grabs hold of Cecily.

I find their minds to be as corseted as their waists,

THE TROUBLE WITH MORNING IS THAT IT COMES WELL before noon.

“Steady the beast, if you please.” “Do you speak of the bicycle or of your behind?”