“(Jack ignored his greeting and slammed his fist straight into the jaw of the spy.)What did he do? Wear the wrong color coat? Or is it his stock you find offensive this time? (Morgan)”

“Empty knight, Harry! Morgan? Morgan? What's wrong with your head?" Thomas shrugged."I don't think he did it."Morgan wouldn't cross the street to piss on you if you were on fire!" Thomas growled, "He's finally getting his comeuppance. Why should you lift a finger?”

“Oh who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?And wherefore is he wearing such a conscience-stricken air?Oh they're taking him to prison for the color of his hair.”

“A man touched me: his hand... my thigh.I touched him too: my fist... his jaw.”

“Sky, you can't ignore this!" He stood under the street lamp, sleet settling in his hair, hands fisted at his side. "You're mine - you have to be.”

“I think the first thing we need to talk about is you not running around in tight T-shirts and yoga pants.”“Fine. I’ll stop doing that as soon as you shave.”Jack ran his hand along his jaw and grinned. “You like the scruff, huh?”Did she ever.”