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One of the lambs fixed its attention on Jared. “Baa,” it flirted. “Boo,” said Jared. “Oh my God, Jared. Don’t tough-talk the lambs.” It was giving me a funny look.

Sarah Rees Brennan

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Sarah Rees Brennan
Age: 41
Born: 1983
Born: September 21
Librarian
Writer
Airlan
Attention
Funny
Look
Looks
Flirted
Giving
Lambs
Fixed
Tough
Talk

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If you weren’t there, how do you know someone pushed her?” Sergeant Kenn asked. “Well …,” said Jared. “And what were you doing, running through a strange town at night?” “I was jogging?” Jared offered. “Without your shirt or your shoes?” “Uh,” said Jared.
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On the morning of the fourth day, Jamie tipped a switchblade out of his box of cornflakes. “I think these promotional campaigns have really got out of hand,” he said, freezing with his hand on the milk carton. “One shiny free knife with every packet of cereal bought is not a good message to send out to the kiddies.
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I'm always on your side.
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I expected something a little more castle-shaped, said Jamie. Nothing lasts forever, Nick said. Except demons, of course. Has anyone ever told you that you're a charming conversationalist? Jamie asked. No, Nick replied honestly. I cannot tell you how much that surprises me, Jamie told him, and Nick gave him a half smile.
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Turns out he does run, Nick drawled. Given an incentive. And he wouldn't be so out of breath if he hadn't kept shrieking. That was not a shriek, Jamie said with dignity. It was a husky masculine cry of terror.
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Do you mean am I worried about people seeing me with my jeans off? Sure. Sometimes people are overcome. They fall down. They hit their heads. It's worrying.
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Good practice, everyone, Rusty said at last. Light on the actual learning, heavy on the emotional catharsis, and thanks to Jared I think I need a rabies shot, but them's the breaks.
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Would it help if I stood around uselessly not knowing what to say?
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Ready? Jaime echoed. Yes, yes, I am ready. I am ready to drink a lot of liquids and lie on the sofa moaning faintly all day long. That is what I am ready for. I cannot engage in physical activity of any sort or my head will fall right off. Is that what you want Nick? Because if so, I find that hurtful.
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Nick looked vaguely homicidal, but that was sort of his default expression.
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Listen to me. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t know what any of this means. But I know this much. It doesn’t matter. You’re not one of them. You never were. You’re not theirs. You’re mine.
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In two words, said Alan quietly, there is nothing I love half as much as you.
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I'm sorry about your face. Jamie looked over his shoulder, and touched the demon's mark crawling along his jaw with the back of his hand. Sorry about saving all our lives by doing something you had to do? Oh no, Nick said blandly. I just meant, you know. Generally.
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I don't really get scared. Want to know what else i don't feel? PITY
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Words felt so clumsy when she was talking about feelings and not facts.
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I read The Hunger Games voraciously and was extremely annoyed when interrupted by such inconsequential things as 'Christmas dinner.' (God, Mom, did you not understand Katniss was being pursued by the mutts? You have several children, why does it always have to be about collecting the whole set all the time?)
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She hesitated, then reached out to Jared in her mind, and uncertainty washed away in the wave of reassurance she got back.
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Real life is sometimes boring, rarely conclusive and boy, does the dialogue need work.
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It’s bits of dead cow don’t ask it to perform miracles.
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I don't have deal breakers, Alan said. I look on tempests, and am never shaken.
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