“She groaned as her face turned to press against the rosewood floor. "Welly, remind me to order a better mattress for my bed. This one is far too firm.""Oh, Eliza," Wellington gasped, now remembering why he was in these lush surroundings. "No broken nose, I hope.""S'all right," Braun slurred. Her voiced dropped to a whisper. "My ample bosom broke my fall.”

“She sighed heavily before whispering, “I’m still a bit confused as to what we are waiting for.” “We are waiting for one of the constants in our world, Miss Braun,” Wellington assured her. “At the end of every opera, there is the grand finale, where the music continues its gradual crescendo, the tenor and tempo rising ever so gradually for that pinnacle of dramatic tension, that moment of anticipation—” “Welly, are you talking about opera or about sex?” His next words caught in his throat. For a woman of higher tastes and seeming refinement, this woman could be utterly crass.”

“I think you will agree the sign of a civilised society is a regular dining schedule.”

“Be that as it may, we were--and no doubt, still are--held under scrutiny, with that whole Phoenix Society brouhaha. It is imperative we remain on our best behaviour, a feat that you did not exactly manage effortlessly with your shenanigans in Edinburgh.”

“Chaotic Of Echoes The Lands Darkest Hours Of LionsArchitect the Garlots of War The Precognitions”

“Right then," Campbell began, his tone so civil it was offensive. "May I have your name for the record, Miss...?""Eliza Braun," Eliza sneered. "Here, I'll spell it for you -- B-U-G-G-E-R-O-F-F.”

“Tell my daughter Elizabeth -- no! Tell all my daughters, everywhere, in all the ages yet to come. Tell them how I died, and why. And tell them to remember this: the future is unwritten. Know your rights.”