The Falcon at the Portal

You know how your eyes can deceive you at times--how a group of shapes and shadows can take on a certain form and then shift into another? It wasn't really like that; there was no physical change in him, he was exactly the same as he'd always been. I knew every line of his long body and every curl on his disheveled black head. I'd just never seen him before. you know what I'm trying to say, don't you? The change is in the heart.

Nefret had always had an uncanny ability to read his thoughts. 'Did she cry?' she asked sweetly. 'And then you kissed her? You shouldn't have done that. I'm sure you meant well, but kissing someone out of pity is always a mistake.

He smiled affably at the burglar, a burly fellow whom he continued to hold with one hand, as easily as if he had been a child. The entire household had been aroused, and a good number of them had joined in, shouting questions and brandishing various deadly instruments. The burglar glared wildly at Emerson, bare to the waist and bulging with muscle - at Gargery and his cudgel - at Selim, fingering a knife even longer than Nefret's - at assorted footmen armed with pokers, spits, and cleavers - and at the giant form of Daoud advancing purposefully toward him. 'It's a bleedin' army!' he gurgled. 'The lyin' barstard said you was some kind of professor!

What a nice neat deep trench,' I said. 'Er - should Nefret be down in it?' 'She thought she saw a skull,' Ramses said. 'You know how she is about bones.

Don't sound so surprised. I have sensible moments, you know.

As the Egyptians say, Ramses can hear a whisper across the Nile.

If she hasn't learned to appreciate my sterling character and spectacular good looks by this time, it's not likely she will.

(for I have learned that noble causes have a deplorable effect on the morals of the persons who espouse them),

For a time Emerson politely endeavored to conceal his boredom - like most men, he is profoundly disinterested in all children except his own - ...

Annoyance has an unfortunate effect on one’s literary style; phrases like “work my fingers to the bone” and “sacrifice my own inclinations to the needs of others

Thunder in the Sky Twelfth