“Good grief! They're going to call us inside soon, and Sticky hasn't even met Madge yet!""Who's Madge?" Sticky asked."Her Majesty the Queen!”

“C'mon, Amy, cinnamon rolls are calling us." Dan put a hand to his ear. "Do you hear? 'Amy? Dan?'" he squeaked. "'Come and get my sugary, sticky goodness!”

“The days were heavy and sticky. All identical, one the same as the other. Soon they would even get rid of their one remaining distinction, the shell of their names: Monday, Tuesday, Thursday.”

“Swirling furiously among the stairs and corridors of her exquisite home like a small and angry white bat Sybilla, Dowager Lady Culter, was not above spitting at her unfortunate son when he chose to sit down in his own great hall to take his boots off. ‘If Madge Mumblecrust comes down those stairs once again for a morsel of fowl’s liver with ginger, or pressed meats with almond-milk, I shall retire to a little wicker house in the forest and cast spells which will sink Venice into the sea for ever, and Madame Donati with it. The Church,’ said Sybilla definitely, ‘should excommunicate girls who do not replace lids on sticky jars and wash their hair every day with the best towels.”

“Please believe that things are going good with me. Even if they're not they will be soon enough.”

“No,' the professor replied. 'Her Majesty s alive and well - at least I assume so if she hasn't met a certain van driver from Yeovil.' ~Professor Hamilton”