“Bloody hell, what did he hit me with? An anvil?""His fist.""You should put that fool in a bear-baiting pit. You'd make a fortune." Dougal struggled to rise.Sophia helped him on one side, Mary slipping under his other arm.The wind swirled a bit harder, sending dust into the air."Heavens!" Mary said, glancing over their heads at the sky. "That's the third thunderhead as has passed this way today."Sophia turned. A huge bank of thunderclouds hung overhead, roiling as if alive."We should get inside," she said uneasily.Dougal didn't even glance at the clouds as he held a hand over his bruised eye and cheek. "Bloody hell, I can barely see.”

“The Viscount stepped into the room. "Came to see if you was dead," he said. "Laid Pom odds you weren't."Lethbridge passed his hand across his eyes. "I'm not," he replied in a faint voice."No. I'm sorry," said the Viscount simply. He wandered over to the table and sat down. "Horry said she killed you, Pom said So she might, I said No. Nonsense."Lethbridge still holding a hand to his aching head tried to pull himself together. "Did you?" he said. His eyes ran over his self invited guest. "I see. Let me assure you once more that I am very much alive.""Well I wish you'd put your wig on," complained the Viscount. "What I want to know is why did Horry hit you on the head with a poker?"Lethbridge gingerly felt his bruised scalp. "With a poker was it? Pray ask her, though I doubt if she will tell you.""You shouldn't keep the front door open," said the Viscount. "What's to stop people coming in and hitting you over the head? It's preposterous.""I wish you'd go home," said Lethbridge wearily.The Viscount surveyed the supper-table with a knowing eye."Card-party?" he inquired.”

“Give me the knife!"Simon held out his hand. Lincoln glanced over as he struggled with Albert. "Could you take it out of your hand first?" he said. Simon gritted his teeth and pulled the knife out.”

“I don't forgive him," I said."Hell, no, you don't. And why should you? So he can feel better? Get on with his life? And what's he done to help you get on with yours?”

“This looks good.""That's Metamucil," Bricker said with disgust, snatching it from her hand."So?" She turned to scowl at him. "What's wrong with Metamucil?""It's--" He glanced at the container and read, "A dietary supplement.""That sounds healthy," she said, trying to grab it back."Eshe," he said, his disgust giving way to amusement. "It's what old mortals take to get regular.""To get regular what?" she asked, and then poked him in the stomach, hard. The moment Bricker bent over with an "oomph," she snatched the container back and repeated, "Regular what?""Crap," he gasped, clutching his stomach. "I didn't hit you that hard," she said with some disgust of her own."No." He sighed, straightening. "I meant that's what they get regulated. Crap."Eshe dropped the can in dismay. "They buy crap?”

“Oh, God," I said."No, it's Dexter," he replied, offering me his hand, which I ignored.He glanced behind him, then back at me. "I'll see you soon," he said, and grinned atme."Like hell," I replied,”