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The ill-informed masses included her own family among their ranks, a family that specialized in being both inconvenient and asinine.

Gail Carriger

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Gail Carriger
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: May 4
Archaeologist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Bolinas
California
Informed
Masses
Ill
Asinine
Mass
Soulless
Among
Specialized
Family
Inconvenient
Ranks
Included

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Ivy waved her wet handkerchief, as much as to say 'words cannot possibly articulate my profound distress'. Then, because Ivy never settled for meaningful gestures when verbal embellishments could compound the effect, she said, Words cannot possibly articulate my profound distress.
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There are words to describe her, my dear, but one does not repeat them in polite company.
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I am rather fond of ladybugs. They are so delightfully hemispherical.
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Steampunk is...the love child of Hot Topic and a BBC costume drama
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You do realise modern social mores exist for a reason? I was hungry, allowances should be made.
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...you have been fraternizing with warewolves overmuch! Military men can be terribly bad for one's verbal concatenation!
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Alexia had spent long hours wondering over that mustache. Werewolves did not grow hair, as they did not age. Where had it come from? Had he always had it? For how many centuries had his poor abused upper lip labored under the burden of such vegetation?
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Oh, Lady Maccon, I am unreservedly in love with her. That black hair, that sweet disposition, those capital hats.
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Alphas simply did not grovel arrogance was part of the job description.
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It's no good choosing your first husband from a school for evil geniuses. Much too difficult to kill.
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Someone was trying to kill Lady Alexia Maccon. It was most inconvenient, as she was in a dreadful hurry. Given her previous familiarity with near-death experiences and their comparative frequency with regards to her good self, Alexia should probably have allowed extra time for such a predictable happenstance.
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I believe there is a considerable range in the bang of most guns.
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I never gossip. I observe. And then relay my observations to practically everyone.
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What’s that?” she asked the girl, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, that? That’s just Pillover.” “And what’s a pillover, when it’s at home?” “My little brother.” “Ah, I commiserate. I have several of my own. Dashed inconvenient, brothers.
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Lord Maccon reflected upon the state of his life wherein he had somehow gained a spouse who could not give a pig's foot for the latest dresses out of Paris but who whined about not owning an aethographic transmitter. Well, at least the two were comparable obsessions so far as expense was concerned.
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Uh, my lord, I am not actually food. You do realize this, yes?
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Ever since her trip with Alexia to Scotland, Mrs. Tunstell had rather a taste for foreign travel. Alexia blamed it on the kilts.
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His eyes were jet-colored circles of perpetual disapproval.
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She reached inside the wide ruffle and pulled out a little vial. “Poison?” asked Lady Maccon, tilting her head to one side. “Certainly not. Something far more important: perfume. We cannot very well have you fighting crime unscented, now, can we?” “Oh.” Alexia nodded gravely. After all, Madame Lefoux was French. “Certainly not.
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Who doesn’t want an exploding wicker chicken?
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