“Would you rather leave?”“Absolutely not. I may be bloodied, but I can still carry a sword.”

“I would rather be a cripple and have your love for all of a single moment than to live as I am without ever having it.”

“I think it’s just a gash. Hurts like bloody hell, though. Remind me…to never try to rescue you again.”“I can’t believe the timing, that you stepped in just when I was thrusting. I didn’t see you.”“I didn’t see the knife, so we’re even.”

“Expectations were never inshort supply.“Do you want to know?” he asked.“I suppose it depends on the answer.”“Which answer would you prefer?”“I’m not really sure. Both leave a lot to be desired.”

“If she’d spun on her heel and left the room, Jack would have laughed at her retreat. And if she’d stayed, staring him down and trying to shame him into leaving, they’d probably still be standing there.”

“Henry nodded. “May I ask you a question?”“Certainly, Your Grace.”He pointed at Jack. “Is he the Artful Dodger?”Mr. Dickens bent low. “I write fiction, Your Grace. The characters inmy books do not really exist, but if they did”—he winked—“I do believehe would be the Artful Dodger.”“I knew it!”“And do you see that gentleman over there?”“Lord Claybourne?”Dickens nodded. “He would be Oliver.”“And what about Miss Frannie?”“She is every sweet girl who appears in the story.”

“You are now in league with the devil, my lady. May you rest easier at night than I”