I wonder if you men have any idea of how insulting it is to women when you assume that all we can offer is our bodies?

Honour may be satisfied,” Lord David drawled in interruption, “but Tremontaine is not.

But I saw the pair of them, along with everyone else. Hard to miss. Him towering like a raggedy scarecrow in that flapping black scholar’s gown, and the sword always quiet next to him, sweet as honey, and poison with it.

She is all that is gracious, Her spirit is comely, The work of her hands is fair.

Utterly ingenious! Tiffany Trent has more fine invention at her fingertips than a roomful of magical Leonardos!

In a city where most of the wealth is controlled by a small few, certain things are overlooked, particularly when it comes to the assertion of privilege.

He had nothing against debauchery in the abstract, but he was particular about the details.

There’s the road to heaven, and there’s the road to hell, and there? That’s the road to Faerie.

Answer me! The circle is complete, and bound in completion,” Basil heard himself say, and knew that it was true. “I charge you, Theron – No, wait.” Formally, he said: “Son of Tremontaine: Alexander Theron Tielman Campion, I charge you, speak!” Theron gave a great gasp, filling his lungs as though coming up from deep water. “The hunt!” he cried. Basil cradled him in his arms. “Hush,” he said. “The hunt is over, you’re with me. You did well.

Maybe someone would write a play just for me, one where a real woman could fight with her sword, and had many fine adventures and changes of costume.