“All the best geniuses are evil,”
“Miss Temminnick, you are in receipt of the highest marks we have ever given in a six-month review. Your mind seems designed for espionage.
Nevertheless, you veer away from perfect in matters of etiquette. Do not let these marks go to your head; there are many girls at this school who are better than you.
Our biggest concern is what you get up to when we are not watching. Because, if nothing else, this test has told us you are probably spying on us, as well as everyone around you.”
“You’re a wonderful dancer, Ria.”
“Mademoiselle Geraldine’s takes such things seriously.”
“Ah. And how many ways do you know to kill me, while we dance?”
“Only two, but give me time.”
“You have lovely eyes. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“What rot. They are a muddy green. What are you about, Lord Mersey?”
Felix sighed, looking genuinely perturbed. His air of ennui was shaken. “I am trying to court you. Truth be told, Miss Temminnick, you make it ruddy difficult!”
“Language, Lord Mersey.” Sophronia felt her heart flutter strangely. Am I ready to be courted?
“See!”
“I'd rather be loyal than right.”
“What do you want?" Sophronia was moved to exasperation.
"Me? Stockings and breeches to come back in fashion. I do miss seeing a man's calves.”
“Sidheag could be quite crass, the result of having been raised by men, or Scots, or soldiers, or werewolves, or all four.”
“So, did you hold back during that test?"
"Maybe a little," Sophronia admitted.
Soap grinned. "That's my girl."
Sophronia glared at him. He was getting familiar.
"You are, miss." He continued to grin.
"I'm my own girl, thank you very much.”
“Oh, now, Ria, you malign me. I'm as honest as a rose garden is beautiful."
"And as full of dung," replied Sophronia without missing a beat.”
“This is not a cut, Felix. I must go fix something."
"Why is it always your problem to fix, Ria?"
"Because I see that there is a problem when no one else does.”
“Here, I stole it for you. Why don’t you tell me what it’s for.”
“Aw, Sophronia, how thoughtful. You brought me a present!”
“a rescuer appeared out of the forest.
“You screamed, madam?”
“Why, Lord Mersey, what are you doing here?”
“Following you, of course. Spot of bother?”
“Little bit of one, yes.”
The young man looked with interest at Sophronia’s opponents, one holding a collapsed Dimity, one bleeding from a gash to the arm, and the third bleeding from a wound to the back.
“My dear Ria, you hardly need my help.”
“Hardly.”
“Unless Sophronia missed her guess, the poor lad was already developing romantic feelings toward her friend. Many of the sooties probably were. Dimity was so pretty and chattery, she quite overpowered the average male. Many gentlemen were unable to cope with abundant chatter, which is why they so often married it.”
“No, what's a man like down there?"
"Oh." Sidheag wrinkled her nose. "Unimpressive. They have - "she gestured towards her own nether regions with one hand - "a sort of dangly sausage - lacks tailoring."
"Really?"
"Yes, like it wasn't fitted into its casing properly. And hairy.”
“Many gentleman were unable to cope with abundant chatter, which is why they so often married it.”
“Rain, in your glorious presence, Miss Temminnick? I hardly think it should dare.”
“Is there no peace for the naked?" Sister Mattie wore a bed cap of sensible white lace.
"I think you mean peace for the wicked," corrected Lady Linette...
"Why would that apply?" asked Sister Mattie, before closing her door on both the problem and the noise.”
“Sidheag, you think like a predator.’ The Lady of Kingair glowed in pleasure. ‘Thank you very much, Sophronia. What a nice thing to say.”
“It's all very well to be an intellectual, but one shouldn't let other see. That's embarrassing.”
“Professor Braithwope, shimmering out of his room fully clothed and dapper. His mustache was a fluffy caterpillar of curiosity, perched and ready to inquire, dragging the vampire along behind it on the investigation.”
“The sofa clattered back into motion and came after her but was confined to the shed. It stopped in the doorway, glaring at her and shaking threatening tassels--if an object without eyes can be said to glare. Sophronia felt sorry for the chaise longue, but she wasn't going to risk being caught in order to mollify a gaudy piece of furniture.”
“You, my child, will marry well. More than once." (...) The lady retrieved the cards and shuffled them back together into one stack in an attitude of dismissal.
Taking this as a sign her fortune was complete, Preshea stood. Looking particularly pleased with life, she passed over a few coins and gave Madame Spetuna a nice curtsy.
Mademoiselle Geraldine was fanning herself. "Oh, dear, oh, dear, Miss Buss. Let us hope it is widowhood and not" - she whispered the next word - "divorce that leads to your multiple marriages."
Preshea sat and sipped from a china cup. "I shouldn't worry, Headmistress. I am tolerably certain it will be widowhood.”
“I thought you were no longer tempted to partake.”
“I wasn’t, until Preshea came along and stole him away from me.”
“Dimity!”
“Well, it’s true. I’m a terribly, terribly shallow person.”
Pillover nodded into his gruel.”
“The redhead looked back and forth between them with dread in her eyes. "Oh, dear, scheming. I was afraid this would happen if we got chummy again.”
“Dimity said, "I wrote him poetry!"
(...) "Dimity," Sophronia said, horrified by such an admission, "you didn't give him the poetry, did you?"
"Certainly not."
Sidheag tilted back in her chair, grinning. "Well, let's hear it."
"Oh, no. I don't think that's a good idea at all."
But Dimity was already dipping into her reticule and pulling out a scrap of paper. She gave it to Sidheag, who read it with a perfectly straight face, her tawny eyes dancing, and then passed it Sophronia.
"My love is like a red red rose
Occasionally he has a red red nose
He could keep me warm in the snows
I wager he has very nice toes."
Sophronia could think of nothing to say except, "Oh, Dimity.”
“Some of the young ladies even ate the salmon without concern to vital humors--when everyone knew colored fish flesh could bring on an attack of hysteria.”
“Felix Mersey might be the cream of the aristocracy, but in the boiler room Soap was undisputed king—grimy empire though it might be.”
“Sophronia had no idea why Felix was so intent upon her. She had not yet received lessons in seduction, or she might have understood the appeal of sharp confidence, a topping figure, and green eyes. All Sophronia’s intellect was directed at something other than attracting male companionship. These things combined to make her particularly appealing to gentlemen.
Soap could have told her that.”
“Even now, you think only in terms of the game. You are well chosen, little bird. Or are you a stoat?” Madame Spetuna bent forward, looking even harder at Sophronia’s palms. She was close enough for Sophronia to feel the woman’s breath on her skin. “Give your heart wisely.” She paused a long time over one particular wrinkle. “Oh, child, you will end the world as we know it.” Madame Spetuna swallowed and then turned Sophronia’s hands over and placed them, palm down, on the table. She leaned forward, pressing them into the tablecloth as though she might rub out what she had seen.”
“Nice prong," said Sophronia after a moment.
Felix grinned and waggled his eyebrows lasciviously. "Thank you for saying so."
Sophronia was instantly suspicious. "You mean that isn't a ballistic exploding steam missile fire prong?"
"No such thing, my dear Ria, but it certainly sounds wicked, doesn't it?"
"Then what is it?"
He handed the evil-looking object over. "Ah, a portable boot-blackening apparatus with pressure-controlled particulate emissions, and attached accoutrement to achieve the highest possible shine. For the stylish gentleman on the go.”
“The redhead whispered, “No, what’s a man like down there?” “Oh.” Sidheag wrinkled her nose. “Unimpressive. They have”—she gestured toward her own nether regions with one hand—“a sort of dangly sausage—lacks tailoring.” Sophronia blinked in surprise. That sounded worse than Sidheag’s description of a werewolf shift.”
“Todos procuram. Os afortunados encontram. (...) Os sensatos aceitam.”
“Outside the bus the smell of sulphur hit Bond with sickening force. It was a horrible smell, from somewhere down in the stomach of the world.”
“You don’t believe in love?”
Connor grimaced as if he’d been poked with a spear. Oh, he believed in love all right. Love was a bitch.”
“A kind of losing loadum is their game,
Where the worst writer has the greatest fame.”
“You’ll have to take me to some museums,” he said. He was being the young man on the road, following the sun because gray weather made him suicidal, writing his poetry in his mind in diners and gas station men’s rooms across the country.”
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