I wanted to wipe the grin off his face with a fist. I resisted the urge. Who says I have no self-control?
Laurell K. HamiltonIt would be nice if you’d stop almost killing me because you don’t want to screw other people.
Laurell K. HamiltonMots clés damien
They be crazier than we are.
Laurell K. HamiltonMots clés anita-blake crazier
Money doesn't spend in hell, Wilkes. The devil deals in a different coin.
Laurell K. HamiltonStop what? Cheering you up? Or is life supposed to stop because you did something horrible? I'll tell you the real horrible truth, Anita. No matter what you do or how bad you feel about it, life just goes on. Life doesn't give a fuck that you're sorry or upset or deranged or tormented. Life just goes on, and you gotta go on with it, or sit in the middle of the road and feel sorry for yourself. And I don't see you doing that.
Laurell K. Hamiltonwas a clear, pale blue like the eyes of a Siberian husky dog. Human beings just didn't have eyes like that.
Laurell K. HamiltonThat's what you get for telling the truth. Someone calls you a liar. Most people will accept a likely lie to an unlikely truth. In fact, they prefer it.
Laurell K. HamiltonI got out my jar of ointment. I knew animators who had special containers for the ointment. Crockery, hand-blown glass, mystical symbols carved into the sides. I used an old Mason jar that had once held Grandma Blake's green beans.
Larry fished out a peanut butter jar with the label still on it. Extra-crunchy. Yum-Yum.
Oh, ma petite, you are growing gargantuan."
I looked at him and it was not a friendly look. "Never tease a woman about her weight, Jean-Claude. At least not an American twentieth-century one."
He Spread his hands wide. "My deepest apologies."
"When you apologize, try not to smile at the same time. It ruins the effect.
Do you practice the laugh, or is it a natural talent? Naw, I’m betting you practice.”
Jean-Claude’s face twisted. I couldn’t decide if he was trying not to laugh, or not to frown. Maybe both. I affected some people that way.
The laughter seeped out of her face, very human, until only her eyes sparkled. There was nothing funny about the look in those twinkling eyes. It was the sort of look a cat gives a small bird.
Her voice lifted at the end of each word, a Shirley Temple affectation. “You are either very brave, or very stupid.”
“You really need at least one dimple to go with the laugh.”
Jean-Claude said softly, “I’m betting on stupid.
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