There's plenty of sense in nonsense sometimes, if you wish to look for it.
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Will smiled the way Lucifer might have smiled, moments before he fell from Heaven.
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While the Clave disapproves of trespassers, oddly they take an even darker view of beheading and skinning people. They're peculiar that way.
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Will: "Nice place to live, isn't it? Let's hope they left something behind other than filth. Forwarding addresses, a few severed limbs, a prostitute or two ..."
Jem: "Indeed. Perhaps, if we're fortunate, we can still catch syphilis."
"Or demon pox," Will suggested cheerfully, trying the door under the stairs.
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The witchlight made his skin paler, his eyes more intently blue. They were the color of the water in the North Atlantic, where the ice drifted on its blue-black surface like the snow clinging to the dark glass pane of a window.
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Do reasons matter when there's nothing that can be done to change things.
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Remember when you tried to convince me to feed a poultry pie to the mallards in the park to see if you could breed a race of cannibal ducks?"
"They ate it too," Will reminisced. "Bloodthirsty little beasts. Never trust a duck.
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Jessamine recoiled from the paper as if it were a snake. "A lady does not read the newspaper. The society pages, perhaps, or the theater news. Not this filth."
"But you are not a lady, Jessamine---," Charlotte began.
"Dear me," said Will. "Such harsh truths so early in the morning cannot be good for the digestion.
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Are you implying that shreds of my reputation remain intact?" Will demanded with mock horror. "Clearly I have been doing something wrong. Or not something wrong, as the case may be."
He banged on the side of the carriage. "Thomas! We must away at once to the nearest brothel. I seek scandal and low companionship.
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Oh, I can never get enough. Which, incidentally, is what your sister said when--
Cassandra ClareMots clés humour innuendo will-herondale
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