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“Ah, the rule that says that women aren’t allowed to be intelligent.” He brushed a kiss against her forehead. “Burn that one to the ground, Violet, and dance on the ashes. And damn anyone who tells you it’s selfish to do so.
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He was 'susceptible' to her. If he wasn't careful, he might end up nursing a full-blown interest.
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"Family isn’t a matter of history. Or biology,” he said softly. “It’s a matter of choice.”
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“Oh, dear.” Free looked down, fluttering her eyelashes demurely. “Is my punctuation showing once more?
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This wasn’t a case of gilding the lily. If there was a lily underneath all that, it had long since been crushed to a pulp. The party stopped in its tracks as she took off her cloak, frozen in wordless contemplation of a wardrobe that made the word “gaudy” sound sweet and demure by contrast.
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If it must be done, it's best done bravely.
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But to call it looking was like calling an eighteen-course feast a snack.
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If eyes were windows to the soul, hers had been bricked up to avoid taxation.
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It would be like loving the ocean, but wishing it would change into a glass of water.
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“Violet,” he said. “How could I say I loved you and expect you to do something you didn’t want?
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You really shouldn’t blame men for everything.” “No, just the ninety-eight percent of society’s ills they’re responsible for.
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THERE WERE THREE SKILLS that Miss Emily Fairfield had found necessary in her current position in life: lying, smuggling, and - most important of all - scaling walls. It was the last she’d put to use at the moment.
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I’m going to explode,” she muttered. “Into a cloud of dust and despair.
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You see, I'm not some shiny bauble to be strung onto a necklace and displayed for all the world to see. I'm too proud to ever be anyone's conquest.
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It was like coming home to a place that he held dear and finding that the wood had burnt to the ground and the house was in ruins.
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"I’ve escaped from the dreadful clutches of a nap,” she announced to the road.
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Oh, thank God. It wasn’t the penis talk.
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For everyone who has carried water in thimbles and teaspoons throughout the centuries. And for all those who continue to do so. For as many centuries as it takes.
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Burn that one to the ground, Violet, and dance on the ashes. And damn anyone who tells you it’s selfish to do so.
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Miss Fairfield had a gift for taking a beautiful concept and then marring it beyond all recognition.
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Maybe that’s what I have been looking for. When storms and rockslides threaten, I am looking for someone who will hold on to me and not let go.
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An unreadable response was heaps better than an unprintable one.
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When someone falls,” Mark said, “you don’t throw her back down in the dirt. You offer her a hand up. It’s the Christian thing to do.
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I spent my day as I normally spend my days: threatening suppliers, bullying those who are not in line with my expectations, and generally creating havoc in the lives of others. The square across the street is empty of all but the pigeons. I find myself resenting them.