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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
Good
Perfectly
Allowed
Understood
Broken
Heart

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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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Alexia suspected Lord Maccon's handling was a tad more than was strictly called for under the circumstances, but she secretly enjoyed the sensation. After all, how often did a spinster of her shelf life get manhandled by an earl of Lord Maccon's peerage? She had better take advantage of the situation.
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...Tunstell was not what one could describe as call subtle. His flaming red hair bobbed up with each pointed and articulated footstep as though he were some cloaked Gothic villain creeping across a stage.
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You are about as covert as a sledgehammer.
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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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She moved with such purpose it was as though she walked with exclamation marks.
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One should do what one is best at on as large a scale as possible.
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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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Please, Lord Maccon, use one of the cups. My delicate sensibilities.” The earl actually snorted. “My dear Miss Tarabotti, if you possessed any such things, you certainly have never shown them to me.
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Even Alexia, spinster that she was, was given an allowance large enough to dress her to the height of fashion— although she did tend to stick to trends a little too precisely. The poor thing could not help it. Her choice of clothing simply lacked soul.
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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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Alexia,” she hissed to her friend, “there are knees positively everywhere. What do I do?
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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.
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I never gossip. I observe. And then relay my observations to practically everyone.
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I believe there is a considerable range in the bang of most guns.
Gail Carriger
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The Gamma paused. “You have a crazed werewolf in your wine cellar?” “You can think of a better place to stash him?” “What about the wine?
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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.
Gail Carriger
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These feelings you engender in me, my lord, are most indelicate. You should stop causing them immediately.
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So, what do you think, my dear, will it be a girl or a boy?” “It will be a soul-stealer, apparently.” “What!” The earl reared away from his wife and looked down at her suspiciously.
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A man was attacking me with a wet handkerchief.
Gail Carriger