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Lyall understood a broken heart, but it could not be allowed to rumple perfectly good shirtwaists.

Gail Carriger

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Gail Carriger
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: May 4
Archaeologist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Bolinas
California
Perfectly
Allowed
Understood
Broken
Heart
Good

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A vampire, like a lady, never reveals his true age.
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And I find perfect beauty excessively boring, don't you?
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No one ever explained the octopuses.
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Who doesn’t want an exploding wicker chicken?
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I believe there is a considerable range in the bang of most guns.
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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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I love him so very much. As Romeo did Jugurtha, as Pyramid did Thirsty, as- Oh, please, no need to elaborate further, interjected Alexia, wincing. But what would my family SAY to such a union? They would say that yours hats had leaked into your head, muttered Alexia, unheard under her breath.
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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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Hello, princess,” said Lord Maccon to the vampire. “Got yourself into quite a pickle this time, didn't you?” Lord Akeldama looked him up and down. “My sweet young naked boy, you are hardly one to talk. Not that I mind, of course.
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She was no closer to determining who might want her dead. There were just too many possibilities.
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My petal. Westminster’s toy had tea issues. Thank Biffy and Lyall. Toodle pip. A.
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What do you want? Sophronia was moved to exasperation. Me? Stockings and breeches to come back in fashion. I do miss seeing a man's calves.
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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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Mrs. Loontwill did what any well-prepared mother would do upon finding her unmarried daughter in the arms of a gentleman werewolf: she had very decorous, and extremely loud, hysterics.
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Alexia gave in to his demanding touch, but only, of course, because he sounded so pathetic. It had nothing, whatsoever to do with her own quickening heartbeat.
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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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But I don't want to be a vampire drone.' Sophronia winced. 'They'll suck my blood and make me wear only the very latest fashions.
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Lord Maccon looked up. “Grovel, you say?” Lyall did not glance away from the latest vampire report he was perusing. “Grovel, my lord.
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His lordship can eat my fat—
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