“Watch out. Bras are often booby-trapped.”

“You men. The bra clasp defeats you every time.""I think a demonic engineer mus have designed these things. I may have to get bolt cutters.""Watch out. Bras are often booby-trapped.”

“I'm an agent of Her Majesty's Secret Service. I do not do booby traps.”

“Excuse me, Abigail, but whose shift did she get away during?' Townsend asked with a glare.'Excuse me, Townsend, but who was supposed to booby-trap the doors?''I'm an agent of Her Majesty's Secret Service,' Townsend said, indignant. 'I do not do booby traps.”

“I don’t know,” I said, exasperated. “What else do you have in your wacked-out world? Heat sensors? Mine fields? Dirigibles? Booby traps? Machine guns? Shrink rays? What?” “Aside from dirigibles, which are rather expensive and rare outside of trade routes, most of what you just said made no sense whatsoever,” he said, as delighted as a child hearing a foreign language for the first time. “But it all sounds very dangerous. And fun. Especially the part about the boobies.”

“He'd learned something. Life was booby-trapped and there was no easy passage through. You had to jump from colour to colour, from happiness to happiness. And all those possible explosions in between. It could be all over any time.”