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You're kidding," Shane said. "Do you think I want to visit Crazy McTeeth in his lair of insanity?" "No," Claire said, "but I'm pretty sure you won't like it if I go alone when I just kind of promised to be with you. So...?" "Right. I've been missing Nutty McFang anyway." "Stop making up names for him." "What about Count Crackula?" "Just stop.
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Hey,” Shane said from the other side of the bars. “Trade you cigarettes for a chocolate bar.” Funny,” Eve said. She was almost back to her old unGothed self again, though there were still red splotches on her cheeks and around her eyes. “How come you’re always behind bars, troublemaker?” Look who’s talking. I didn’t try to outrun the cops in a hearse.” That hearse had horsepower.” Eve got that moony look in her eyes again. “I love that hearse.
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Shane said, "Don't worry. I'll protect you." Claire hit him in the shoulder. "I don't need you to protect me." "Then why am I going first?" "So you can take the first punch while I throw the second?" "So I'm bait? Ouch. You've been in Morganville way too long, girl.
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I am not getting you a brain, because I am not that kind of assistant, Dr. Frankenstein.
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The author wishes to thank: Good fortune, Godiva chocolates, and Slim-Fast
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Human nature was all about shifting blame...and responsibility. How else could you explain concentration camps and genocide and all the awful things people did to each other every day? They just carried on life and pretended like the evil didn't exist, as long as it was happening out of their direct view.
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Why did you destroy Manny's office, then?" "I--can't breathe--" "That is the point of choking you," I pointed out. "Haste, please, if you want to live." -Cassiel
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Screw that, the questionn at hand is what's your major?" Oded said. "Because let me tell you right now, any answer other than World of Warcraft or Advanced Ninja Studies will not be accepted.
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Oliver . . . well. Who knew if Oliver’s problem was the disease or just a bad attitude?
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Eve: Shut up, we have zero time for you and your bullshit dramatics Monica: Or what, you'll bleed on me, Emo Princess of Freakdomonia? Claire: Fine. You come with us. If you get in my way, I'll kill you.
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Bryn ate her bagel in silence, and by the time she was finished, Liam had already neatly packed her overnight bag and loaded it in MacAllister's car. He even included a new dog bed for Mr. French to travel in confort. Lunch was in moducal little boxes. "I think he is Alfred." "Actually, I often wonder if he's Batman.
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All right," he said. "Since you ask so nicely." "I wasn't asking." "I'm aware of that. The sharp point in my back did make it clear.
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She can go with us to the lab and keep Myrnin pinned down while we pull the plug, if he's not... you know, better." "Define BETTER with that guy." "Not all fangs and raaaaar.
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Don't diss me, Danvers. I'm warning you.""I'm not dissing you," Claire sighed. "I'm ignoring you. There's a difference. Dissing you implies I think you're actually important.
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So you’ll just kill anyone who frightens you. Who could hurt you.” “Well…yes.
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And that, Claire thought, was why Morley had been right about this, even if he was a complete vampire about it. You had to save what you could. Amelie had understood that all along, Claire realized. That was why Morganville existed. Because you had to try.
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The rule of the Morrell family was over, and Richard owned a used-car lot and Monica worked at a nail salon, until one day she got run over by a bus. Very sad.
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Great," Shane said. "Look i'd rather not be on janitorial duty. I have allergies to cleaners." "And to cleaning," Michael said. "Look who's talking, Didn't the do one of those Animal Planet documentaries about the roaches in your room?
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I'd blurted out the question only to keep him from noticing that I was working my hands free, but the Warden behind me, some young brown-haired surfer dude, yelled a warning. "She's getting loose!" Narc.
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Michael!” Oliver’s voice came faint through the front door. “Something you should see, my boy! Look out your windows!” “Trap,” Shane said instantly, and reached out to grab Michael’s arm as he walked by. “Don’t, man.” “What’s he going to do? Make faces at me?
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Happy birthday,” she said. “And next time? Eat the stupid cupcake.
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Shane? Thank God, somebody sane. Well, sane-ish.
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Keys," she repeated, and slowly stepped back. "What do you mean, keys?" "Car keys. As in, give them up. Now." Shane had that look -- hard, and no bullshit. "We don't have time for your drama, Monica. Nobody does.
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He hung up on her. She'd just been hung up on by a disembodied brain in a jar. Fantastic.