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She had to give her teachers credit: they were right to insist all pupils carry scissors, handkerchiefs, perfume and hair ribbons at all times. At some point she'd learn why they also required a red lace doily and a lemon.
Gail Carriger
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Gail Carriger
Age: 48
Born: 1976
Born: May 4
Archaeologist
Novelist
Science Fiction Writer
Writer
Bolinas
California
Teacher
Insist
Doilies
Point
Perfume
Handkerchiefs
Times
Required
Lemon
Learn
Teachers
Scissors
Also
Red
Ribbons
Give
Carry
Lace
Right
Credit
Lemons
Giving
Hair
Pupils
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Lord Akeldama sighed. 'You lovebirds, how will I endure such flirtations constantly in my company? How déclassé, Lord Maccon, to love your own wife.
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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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These things, regrettably, are bound to occur when one is married and befriended.
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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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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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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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My petal. Westminster’s toy had tea issues. Thank Biffy and Lyall. Toodle pip. A.
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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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No one ever explained the octopuses.
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Oh, dear me, no. Then I should be known as that vampire with all the cats.
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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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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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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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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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Alexia, did you know there is an entire regiment decamping on your front lawn? Laddy Maccon sighed. Really, Ivy, I would never have noticed.
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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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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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Oh, Professor Lyall, are you making a funny? It doesn’t suit you.” The sandy-haired Beta gave Lady Maccon a dour look. “I am exploring new personality avenues.” “Well, stop it.” “Yes, my lady.
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Alexia blinked stupidly at the Beta from around the earl’s upper arm. Her heart was doing crazy things, and she still could not locate her kneecaps. She took a deep breath and put some serious attention into tracking them down.
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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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