It was clear Jackson was the sort of young man who considers himself rather smarter than he is, and who is naturally cruel but thinks himself a decent fellow.

The laces had broken and were so short that tying them was like performing surgery on an insect.

Why does Mr. Harsch hate you?” Reuben asked, somewhat absently, for he was only partly listening. He’d never been in a motorboat and was preoccupied by the rumble of the engine, the smell of exhaust fumes now drifting astern, the lovely rush of water along the sides. “Or, I mean, pretend to hate you?” “Who can say?” Jack replied with a shrug. “Maybe because I keep borrowing his boat.” They.

Go on, Kate. I don’t want to have fallen four stories for nothing.” – Milligan.

With perfect clarity he remembered Reynie saying, “I need you here as a friend.” The effect of those words, and of all his friendships, had grown stronger and stronger, until – though he couldn’t say why he didn’t feel mixed up now – at the most desperate moment yet, he knew it to be true. There was bravery in him. It only had to be drawn out.

He’d been about to make a joke, but he kept it to himself.

It’s not going to be over,” Kate said firmly, “until we say so.

And yet, in certain ways, the Institute did remind them of other schools: Rote memorization of lessons was discouraged but required; class participation was encouraged but rarely permitted; and although quizzes were given every day, in every class, there was always at least one student who groaned, another who acted surprised, and another who begged the teacher, in vain, not to give it.

Milligan now acted as if he were the happiest man alive – and perhaps he was. Having so long ago exited his life as a father, he had now, at long last, entered it again.

The third question, thankfully, was less emotional. It read: “What is wrong with this statement?” How funny, Reynie thought, and marking down his answer he felt somewhat cheered. “It isn’t a statement at all,” he wrote. “It’s a question.