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And I hope you will not think me foolish when I also extend my thanks. Thank you, Michael, for letting my son love her first. —from Janet Stirling, dowager Countess of Kilmartin, to Michael Stirling, Earl of Kilmartin

Julia Quinn

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Julia Quinn
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: January 12
Author
Writer
Evergreen State
Julie Cotler
Julie Pottinger
Son
Janet
Hope
Earl
Also
Extend
Firsts
Michael
First
Letting
Love
Foolish
Think
Thank
Dowager
Thinking
Thanks
Countess

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It was funny, he reflected later, how one’s life could alter in an instant, how one minute everything could be a certain way, and the next it’s simply ... not
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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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To say that men can be bullheaded would be insulting to the bull.
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Raw toast, Lucas said grimly, shaking his head. It goes against the very nature of man.
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You are not going to waltz in here and distract me with a clever phrase and a beguiling smile. You think my smile is beguiling?
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Any man, you'll soon learn, has an insurmountable need to blame someone else when he is made to look a fool.
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If he was planning to attack and ravish, he gave no indication of being in a hurry to do so.
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When the dead body said, Good evening, Annabel had to face the grim conclusion that it wasn't as dead as she'd hoped.
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There were a lot of things in life to be afraid of, but strangeness ought not be among them.
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You might wish to revisit your understanding of the word everything.” Gregory turned to his mother. “Vocabulary and comprehension were never her strong suits.” Violet rolled her eyes. “Every day I marvel that the two of you managed to reach adulthood.” “Afraid we’d kill each other?” Gregory quipped. “No, that I’d do the job myself.
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He shook his head in wonder. You are magnificent. I keep telling everyone that, she said with a nonchalant shrug, but you seem to be the only one to believe me.
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People will think you're courting me.' 'Nonsense, everyone knows I don't court respectable women.
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Do I look like a mess?” she asked. He nodded. “But you’re my mess,” he whispered.
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I can imagine no greater bliss than to lie about, reading novels all day.
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Have you seen Frances?” He tilted his head to the right. “I believe she’s off rooting about in the bushes.” Anne followed his gaze uneasily. “Rooting?” “She told me she was practicing for the next play.” Anne blinked at him, not following. “For when she gets to be a unicorn.” “Oh, of course.” She chuckled. “She is rather tenacious, that one.
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I'm not a gentle pony... I promise you, you will have to work to keep your seat.
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