“I stabbed the intruder with a knife. How else was I supposed to cut him into bite-sized pieces?”

“The truth is I did try to stab him. I tried to stab him with a butter knife. Why? Because it seemed deadlier than trying to stab him with a melting stick of butter.”

“I have a knife in my hand, slicing beef on the willowware plate, and I cut harder, faster, thinking it is your pink neck under my blade and I am cutting you into little pieces that I will bury in the meadow outside when there is no moon.”

“hmmm. Didn't they say a man's feet echoed the size of his manhood? Of its own accord, her gaze darted up Gregor's leg to where his deliciously tight breeches caressed his-"Knife."She blinked, her gaze jerking up to his face, her skin flushing. Please, God, don't let him know what I was thinking. "Knife." he said again."Knife?" she repeated dumbly."Good god, Oglivie. I will need a knife if I'm to cut these vegetables.”

“I can stab myself, but I can’t reach the knife to pull it out. And then everything starts to disappear. I start to fade away, too. Only the knife is always there— to the very end.”

“Kessa began to cut her meat into tiny pieces. As a whole it was unmanageable, frightening; but divided and arranged, the meat could be controlled. She cut four pieces. She'd count to four between each bite.”