Quote

I like fish, chirruped Tunstell. Really, Mr. Tunstell? What is your preferred breed? Well--Tunstell hesitated--you know, the um, ones that--he made a swooping motion with both hands--uh, swim.

Gail Carriger

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Gail Carriger
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: May 4
Archaeologist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Bolinas
California
Fishes
Ones
Swooping
Hands
Hesitated
Wells
Breed
Well
Preferred
Made
Motion
Really
Swim
Like
Fish

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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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You are about as covert as a sledgehammer.
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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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But we were talking about me and my problems. Sophronia looked Monique up and down gravely. I don't think we're going to solve those in the space of one carriage ride.
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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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Very well, Lord Maccon. If we are going to play this particular hand, would you be interested in becoming my...” “Mistress?
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No one ever explained the octopuses.
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Alphas simply did not grovel arrogance was part of the job description.
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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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Why? I mean, why you? I can perfectly comprehend not liking my husband. I dislike him intensely most of the time.” Professor Lyall stifled a chuckle. “I am given to understand that he does not approve of spelling one’ s name with two ll’s. He finds it inexcusably Welsh. I suspect he may be quite taken with you, however.
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His eyes were jet-colored circles of perpetual disapproval.
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The important question is, what will your wear for a wedding dress, Alexia? You look horrible in white.
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Captain Niall, having apparently resigned himself to losing his quarry, was savaging her horsehair petticoat into teeny, tiny shreds. Really, what did my poor petticoat do to offend?
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Really, Channing,” remonstrated Alexia, “did you have to eat the man’s dog? I am convinced you will experience terrible indigestion.
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She moved with such purpose it was as though she walked with exclamation marks.
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Rail is such an undignified way to travel. All that rapid racing about. Floating has so much more gravitas.
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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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He is clearly bookish. I did not follow a single word of their conversation at dinner last night, not one jot of it. He must be bookish.
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Lyall understood a broken heart, but it could not be allowed to rumple perfectly good shirtwaists.
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