Darlin'...i Know What You Look Like When

One Of The Servants Had Reported That Daisy Had Been Sneaking Around The House At Night, Deliberately Tripping All The Traps To Keep The Mice From Being Killed. “is This True, Daughter?” Thomas Bowman Had Rumbled, His Gaze Filled With Ire As He Stared At Daisy. “it Could Be,” She Had Allowed. “but There Is Another Explanation.” “and What Is That?” Bowman Had Asked Sourly. Her Tone Turned Congratulatory. “i Think We Are Hosting The Most Intelligent Mice In New York!

Girlfriend, If You're Waiting For A Fairy Godmother To Show Up With A Dress And A Ride, You're Not Going To Make It To The Party.

When You Are In Love' Hypocrisy Won Over Principle.

If I Were An Opera Singer, I"d Have Sung You An Aria. If I Were An Artist, I Would Have Painted Your Portrait. But Cooking Is What I'm Best At.

I-i’m Not Making Advances,” She Told Him As She Flattened Herself Against His Chest. “you’re Just An Available S-source Of Heat.” “so You Say,” St. Vincent Replied Lazily, Tucking The Quilt More Tightly Around Them Both. “however, During The Past Quarter Hour You’ve Been Fondling Parts Of My Anatomy That No One’s Ever Dared To Touch Before.” “i V-very Much Doubt That.” She Burrowed Even Further Into The Depths Of His Coat, And Added In A Muffled Voice, “you’ve Probably Been H-handled More Than A Hamper At Fortnum And Mason.