“Don’t worry, he said, I never leave a damsel in the same state of distress I found her in.”

“I'd never been a good damsel in distress. I was a "hands-on" damsel.”

“Penelope glared at her, “Madame said that men love damsels in distress. She failed to point out that damsels in distress look wretched, miserable and downright horrid.”“Men do love damsels in distress. We simply need to look lovely while fighting mortal peril.”

“I have a fetish for damsels in distress.”“Don’t be sexist.”“Not at all. My services are also available to gentlemen in distress. It’s an equal opportunity fetish.”

“I don't damsel well. Distress, I can do. Damseling? Not so much.”

“Mosca said nothing. The word ‘damsel’ rankled with her. She suddenly thought of the clawed girl from the night before, jumping the filch on an icy street. Much the same age and build as Beamabeth, and far more beleaguered. What made a girl a ‘damsel in distress’? Were they not allowed claws? Mosca had a hunch that if all damsels had claws they would spend a lot less time ‘in distress’.”