Elizabeth, You Resemble Nothing So Much As

For Me, The Dialogue Is The Easiest Part Of Writing. It Just Always Seems So Obvious What A Character Will Say. Maybe Its Because I Talk Too Much!

How Do You Feel?” She Asked, Trying To Fluff His Pillow. “other Than Terrible, I Mean.” He Moved His Head Slightly To The Side. It Seemed To Be A Sickly Interpretation Of A Shrug. “of Course You’re Feeling Terrible,” She Clarified, “but Is There Any Change? More Terrible? Less Terrible?” He Made No Response. “the Same Amount Of Terrible?

James Started To Laugh. His Chin Hurt Where She'd Smacked Him Twice, His Foot Throbbed Where She'd Stepped On It, And His Entire Body Felt As If He'd Swum Through A Rosebush, Which Wasn't As Far Off The Truth As It Sounded. Yet Still He Started To Laugh.

No Man Of Any Intelligence Would Pretend To Know A Female Mind.

Phillip Looked To Eloise. "perhaps Introductions Are In Order?" "oh," Eloise Said, Gulping. "yes, Of Course. These Are My Brothers." "i'd Gathered," He Said, His Voice As Dry As Dust. She Shot Him An Apologetic Look, Which, Phillip Thought, Was Really The Least She Could Do After Nearly Getting Him Tortured And Killed, Then Turned To Her Brothers And Motioned To Each In Turn, Saying, "anthony, Benedict, Colin, Gregory. These Three," She Added, Motioning To A, B, And C, "are My Elders. This One"—she Waved Dismissively At Gregory—"is An Infant.