“Cat's friends seemed like very sweet girls," Dad says."They were the bomb," I say fervently, and he looks back at me with raised eyebrows."'The bomb' is a good thing? Like 'sick'?"Duh," I reply, and Dad lets out a sigh."Thirteen-year-olds should come with subtitles," he says, turning onto our street.”

“God, you have a beautiful laugh, and your smile. Jesus, it knocks the breath out of me.""You can't talk to me like that, nobody says things like that to a woman he just met. It's insane.""I just did. And I plan to keep saying them until you believe every word.”

“I turn to our father, searching for an ally. "So Dad, is it legal for Bronte to date out of her species?"Dad looks up from his various layers of pepperoni and breadless cheese. "Date?" he says. Apparently the idea of Bronte dating is like an electromagnet sucking away all other words in the sentence, so that's the only word he hears."You're not funny," Bronte says to me."No, I'm serious," I tell her. "Isn't he like... a Sasquatch or something?""Date?" says Dad.”

“If on Judgement Day I were summoned by St. Peter to give testimony to the used-to-be sheriff's act of kindness, I would be unable to say anything in his behalf. His confidence that my uncle and every other Black man who heard of the Klan's coming ride would scurry under their houses to hide in chicken droppings was too humiliating to hear. Without waiting for Momma's thanks, he rode out of the yard, sure that things were as they should be and that he was a gentle squire, saving those deserving serfs from the laws of the land, which he condoned.”

“Hanging softly over the black Singer sewing machine, it looked like magic, and when people saw me wearing it they were going to run up to me and say, "Marguerite, forgive us, please, we didn't know who you were," and I would answer generously, "No, you couldn't have known. Of course I forgive you.”

“As I speak, I’m reminded of the old saying that diseases go in through the mouth, disasters come out of the mouth, meaning that words can be like bombs themselves.”

“What are the two of you whisperingabout?” Alaric demanded irritably.She glanced over to see the warrior watching her, his eyes narrow with suspicion.“If I wanted you to know, I’d have spoken louder,” she said calmly.He turned away muttering what she wassure were more blasphemies about annoyingfemales.“You must make the priest weary with thelength of your confessions,” she said.He raised one eyebrow. “Who says I confess anything?”