“Aside from infrequent comments ("Cheer up, love," or "It's not Hallo'ween"), no one wondered why a teenager was dressed up as a chic governess. Sylvie approved of Miri, even at the same time as she was confused by her. "It's a style at least," she said, and took off her rope of pearls and looped them around Miri's neck.”

“No matter that we could be beheaded for this,” said Esa. “Heads are overrated.”“Yes, they are so unfashionable,” said Miri, imitating an Aslandian accent. “This spring, ladies of style are wearing their feathers in their necks.”

“Essie came up behind Rosie and put an arm around her neck, then took the glass from her hand. "God, I hope that's vodka." She drained it in one swallow and grimaced. "Definitely not.”

“Miri forced herself to remain very still. Never run from immortals, she remembered; her favorite line from a favorite movie. Never run.”

“Throwing herself into learning helped Miri ignore the painful chill of solitude around her.”

“The bottle was almost empty when Miriam slid to the floor in a boneless heap. Startled,she pushed herself up and leaned back against the oven door. "You done mind If I shit, do you?" she asked.Willow blinked, then giggled. "Course not.""Oh,go-o-od." Miriam stretched her legs out in front of her, paying scant attention to the cotton twill skirts hiked up to her knees."Are you all right, Miriam?""Course,dear. Never felt so so-o-o good. It's just a little warm in here, that's all. Perhaps anudder cup of tha' cool wine 'll help."Willow, who was also feeling a bit too warm, agreed and divided what was left of the wine between them. "I think we've had nuff practice, Miri, Miri..." She belched and giggled.Miriam took another drink, slapped her thigh, and shook her finger at the girl. "It snaut nice to belch," she slurred. "Not ladylike 'tall.""Know what I think, Miri-um?""No,wha'?""Nothing's ladylike.""Thas right!" Miriam agreed, slapping her thigh again. "And thas why I always say, don't cuss. Nobody really gives a tinker's damn but it zounds like hell!”