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Cats were not, in her experience, an animal with much soul. Prosaic, practical little creatures as a general rule. It would suit her very well to be thought catlike.

Gail Carriger

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Gail Carriger
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: May 4
Archaeologist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Bolinas
California
Thought
Practical
Littles
Suits
Soul
Cat
Little
Rule
Wells
Creatures
Prosaic
Well
General
Cats
Much
Animal
Suit
Would
Experience
Practicals

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Tunstell, this is your Alpha speaking. Do as I tell you. You must regurgitate now. Regurgitation is an involuntary action. You cannot simply order me to do it,” replied Tunstell in a small voice. “I most certainly can. Besides which, you are an actor.” Tunstell grimaced. “I’ve never had cause to vomit onstage.
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I had a recent delivery of new fashion plates from Paris, and you hardly glanced at the hairstyles. My husband tells me you are still having difficulty controlling the change. And your cravat has been tied very simply of late, even for evening events.
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Lord Maccon was built like a brick outhouse, with opinions twice as unmoving and often equally full of crap.
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I do not giggle without purpose. Lady Linette says you should never misapply a giggle.
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One should do what one is best at on as large a scale as possible.
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Uh, my lord, I am not actually food. You do realize this, yes?
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His eyes were jet-colored circles of perpetual disapproval.
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Classic author moment, Oh dear, did I kill that character or not?
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As with most things in life, Lady Maccon preferred the civilized exterior to the dark underbelly (with the exception of pork products, of course.)
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At such close range, even she could hit a vampire full force in the shoulder, surprising him considerably. He paused in his attack. “Well, my word! You can’t threaten me, you’re pregnant!
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Miss Tarabotti was not one of life's milk-water misses--in fact, quite the opposite. Many a gentleman had likened his first meeting with her to downing a very strong cognac when one was expecting to imbibe fruit juice--that is to say, startling and apt to leave one with a distinct burning sensation.
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My petal. Westminster’s toy had tea issues. Thank Biffy and Lyall. Toodle pip. A.
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He was so very large and so very gruff that he rather terrified her, but he always behaved correctly in public, and there was a lot to be said for a man who sported such well-tailored jackets---even if he did change into a ferocious beast once a month.
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Alexia,” she hissed to her friend, “there are knees positively everywhere. What do I do?
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Floote, what is going on? Do they think I am contagious? Should I assure them I was born with a nose this size?
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I never gossip. I observe. And then relay my observations to practically everyone.
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His eyes are peculiar. There is nothing in them, like an eclair without the cream filling. It's wrong, lack of cream.
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What have I done thins time? he paused to ask before continuing with his oral expedition about her body: her husband, the intrepid explorer.
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How ghastly for her, people actually thinking, with their brains, and right next door. Oh, the travesty of it all.
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She took a moment to lament her lack of parasol. Every time she left the house, she felt keenly the absence of her heretofore ubiquitous accessory.
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