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It was juvenile, he knew, this need to assign blame, but everyone had a right to childish emotions from time to time, didn't they?

Julia Quinn

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Julia Quinn
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: January 12
Author
Writer
Evergreen State
Julie Cotler
Julie Pottinger
Need
Juvenile
Right
Childish
Needs
Emotions
Time
Blame
Emotion
Knew
Everyone
Didn
Assign

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Francesca: It's still a bit cold yet. Michael: Never stopped John and me. Francesca: Yes, well, you're Scottish. Your blood circulates quite well half frozen.
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Don’t look so upset,” Hyacinth said, once it was just the two of them again. “You’re quite a catch.” He looked at her assessingly. “Is one meant to say such things quite so directly?” She shrugged. “Not to men one is trying to impress.” “Touché, Miss Bridgerton.” She sighed happily. “My three favorite words.” Of that, he had no doubt.
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Everyone has secrets. Especially me.
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How do you feel?” she asked, trying to fluff his pillow. “Other than terrible, I mean.” He moved his head slightly to the side. It seemed to be a sickly interpretation of a shrug. “Of course you’re feeling terrible,” she clarified, “but is there any change? More terrible? Less terrible?” He made no response. “The same amount of terrible?
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It wasn‟t even desire. It was far more than that. It was love. Love. With a capital L and swirly script and hearts and flowers and whatever else the angels— and yes, all those annoying little cupids—wished to use for embellishment.
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Click. The door swung open. Three, James said with a slightly self-satisfied smile. Well done, Caroline said. He smiled back at her. I've never met a woman or a lock that didn't love me.
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And if you say that's because you lot barged into her home like a herd of mentally deficient sheep, I'm disowning all three of you.
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You always get more respect when you don't have a happy ending.
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She smelled like England, of soft rain and sun-kissed meadows. And she felt like the best kind of heaven. He wanted to wrap himself around, bury himself within her, and stay there for all of his days. He hadn’t had a drop to drink in three years, but he was intoxicated now, bubbling with a lightness he’d never thought to feel again.
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Rehearsels, actually. Rehearsals? For the- Oh,no. -musicale. The Smythe-Smith musical.It finished off what the Crusades had begun.There wasn't a man alive who could maintain a romantic thought when faced with the memory-or the threat-of a Smythe-Smith musicale.
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Don’t tell me your name. It’s likely to awaken my conscience, and that’s the last thing we want.
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Until you've lived through all that, he said, don't you ever complain about what we have. Because to me... to me... He choked on the words, but he barely paused before he continued. This - us - is heaven. I can't bear to hear you say otherwise.
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Be careful what you wish for,her mind thundered.
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Thou Shalt Not Covet Thy Cousin‟s Wife. Moses must have forgotten to write that one down
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He wondered if she'd mind if he threw her down on the blanket and tore off her clothing. (..) She looked heartbreakingly innocent. Alex sighed. She'd probably mind.
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He gave her his best smile. His best I-almost-died-so-how-can-you-deny-me smile. Or at least that’s how he hoped it appeared. The truth was, he wasn’t a very accomplished flirt, and it might very well have come across as an Iam- mildly-deranged-so-it’s-in-all-of-our-best-interests-if-youpretend- to-agree-with-me smile.
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She had been born for this man, and she had spent so many years trying to accept the fact that he had been born for someone else.
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He'd been waiting for a love fraught with passion and drama it hadn't even occurred to him that true love might be something that was utterly comfortable and just plain easy.
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This has to be the most self-centered thing I've ever said, but no, I think you just wanted to vex me.
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To call that writing, madam, is an insult to quills and ink across the world.
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