“Mr. Carter cleared his throat. “Soy sauce.” He deadpanned. “Really, Sera?”

“He attacked me, so I had to slit his throat with a steak knife. But not before I splashed Worcestershire sauce all over it.”

“He then begs to make his dear Twemlow known to his two friends, Mr. Boots and Mr. Brewer - and clearly has no distinct idea which is which.”

“Mr. Crossley suddenly wondered why he was why he was worrying about the note. It was only a joke, after all. He cleared his throat. Everyone looked up hopefully. 'Somebody,' said Mr. Crossley, 'seems to have sent me a Halloween message.' And he read out the note: 'SOMEONE IN THIS CLASS IS A WITCH.'6B thought this was splendid news. Hands shot up all over the room like a bed of beansprouts.'It's me, Mr. Crossley!''Mr. Crossley, I'm the witch!''Can I be the witch, Mr. Crossley?''Me, Mr. Crossley, me, me, me!”

“The truth sticks in our throats with all the sauces it is served with: it will never go down until we take it without any sauce at all.”

“His hand rested above my hip, having a totally different impact on me. My skin tingled underneath the chiffon. Daemon cleared his throat as he glanced away. 'You...you look beautiful, by the way. Really too good to be with that idiot.”