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He was a worried man (I'm stretching the term a bit here, I know. By now, in his mid to late teens, he might just about have passed for a man. When seen from behind. At a distance. On a very dark night).

Jonathan Stroud

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Jonathan Stroud
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: October 27
Novelist
Writer
Jonathan Anthony Stroud
Night
Distance
Might
Late
Men
Behinds
Behind
Bits
Stretching
Seen
Teens
Term
Passed
Dark
Worried

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The Hermit was known to be pretty sniffy about disciples who returned in failure. There was a wall of the institute layered with their skins- an ingenious display that encouraged vigor in his students, as well as nicely keeping out the drafts.
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Haven't you done enough for a lifetime? Think about it - two power - crazed magicians killed, a hundred power - crazed magicians saved.
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Then again, Solomon was human. And that meant he was flawed (Go on, take a look at yourself in the mirror. A good long look, if you can bear it. See? Flawed's putting it mildly, isn't it?)
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I read a bit of the Icelandic sagas. They're fascinating in that they are completely ordinary. The farmer will go off into the hills and fight a troll, and then go back and do ordinary things. It's an odd mix of fantasy and reality.
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There was a loud cough from the man on the stand. I replaced My Magic Mirror carefully on his tray, gave him a cheesy smile, and went my way.
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That's usuаllу hоw thеу start, thе young оnеs. Meaningless waffle.
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So I departed, leaving behind a pungent smell of brimstone. Just something to remember me by.
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Besides, if you're going to die horribly, you might as well do it with style.
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He was transfixed at the sight of the lords and ladies of his realm running about like demented chickens.
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Jabor finally appeared at the top of the stairs, sparks of flame radiating from his body and igniting the fabric of the house around him. He caught sight of the boy, reached out his hand and stepped forward. And banged his head nicely on the low-slung attic door.
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That's usually how they start, the young ones. Meaningless waffle.
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Oh, the boots were on the other eight feet now.
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If anyone else asked that question, O He Who Is Terrible and Great, I would have said they were an ignorant fool in you it is a sign of the disarming simplicity which is the fount of all virtue.
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Most traditional ghost stories feature rather hapless protagonists, who have nasty things happen to them.
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Fiftey years isn't too bad. With luck you might see it happen when your a sweet,old granny,dandling big fat babies on your knee. Actully-he held up a hand,interrupting Kitty's cry of protest-no,that's wrong. My projection is incorrect. Good. You'll never be a sweet old granny. Let's say,'sad,lonely old biddy' instead.
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Did Lovelace's forces find you? Did Jabor break in? He spoke slowly through clenched teeth. I went to get a newspaper This is getting better and better! I shook my head regretfully. You should leave such a dangerous assignment to people better qualified: next time ask an old granny, or a toddler-
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Ah, you coward! Look at you, running. Actually, it's called improvising.
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The afrit batted his eyelashes with a ostentatious lack of concern. Indeed? Have you a name? A name? I cried. I have MANY names! I am Bartimaeus! I am Sakhr al-Jinni! I am N'gorso the Mighty and the Serpent of Silver Plumes! I paused dramatically. The young man looked blank. Nope never heard of you. Now if you'll just-
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When I was young, I kept a diary for about 10 years and I had to write in it every day. Even on days when nothing seemed to happen, I made myself think of something to put in it.
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That's a gesture of endearment in some cultures. Some hug, some kiss, some set each other on fire in small patches of woodland
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