“It was May’s idea,” Quentin added.“I’m sure it was,” I said. Sylvester started circling. I dropped into a defensive position. “I’m not really comfortable with this, May.”“Cope,” she said.“Maybe an audience will make you shape up,” Sylvester said, and lunged.I parried. “Maybe an audience will distract me and get me gutted.”“Let’s see some carnage!” hollered May, pumping her fist in the air.“This isn’t professional wrestling!” I snapped, trying to hit Sylvester’s ankle. He blocked, turning my thrust aside and nearly disarming me. “And I swear if you shout ‘take it off,’ I am coming over there.”“Take what off?” asked Sylvester.“Nothing, Your Grace,” Quentin and I said in unison.”

“May I ask you what these questions tend?''Merely to the illustration of your character,' said she, endeavouring to shake off her gravity. 'I am trying to make it out.''And what is your success?'She shook her head. 'I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly.”

“SHUT UP. Both of you. You're coming with me." To me he said, "Put some pants on.""Fuck you. This is my house. I make the rules. You take your clothes off. John, get the Twister mat.”

“You want to take me to a movie?" I asked. "Well, not really," he said. "What I really want is for you to be my girlfriend. But I thought saying that might scare you off.”

“I have to admit I’m not real sure you being equipped to scrape her off at the drop of a hat fills me with joy.” “I get that, Tab. What you don’t get is, she isn’t you.”

“That’s it,” she said, balling her hands in fists. “I’m not letting you out of it this time. I insist that you take me to Scotland. I demand you ruin me. As a point of honor.”