He Could Smell Her Morality, The Sweet

Clary Didn't Ask What That Was. She Was Busy Trying Not To Fall Over. The Ground Was Heaving Up And Down Under Her Feet. "jace," She Said, And Crumpled Into Him. He Caught Her As If He Were Used To Catching Fainting Girls, As If He Did It Every Day. Maybe He Did.

Come On Guys, You Cant Fight Like This Forever" "actually," Simon Said, Raising His Hand,"i Can". Jace Made A Weird Noise And I Realized He Was Trying Not To Laugh-which By The Way, Wasn't Working.

I Learned To Share Work With People Even When It Was In Its Rough Stages Without Worrying That They'd Be Filled With Scorn And Hatred. After All, I Can Read Their Rough Work Without Turning On Them Like A Wildebeest.

Is He Dead?" He Inquired. "he Looks Dead." "no," Snapped Maryse. "he's Not Dead." "have You Checked? I Could Kick Him If You Want.

And In Some Way, Clary Thought, He Meant It, Meant His Gratitude. He Had Long Ago Lost The Ability To Distinguish Between Force And Cooperation, Between Fear And Willingness, Between Love And Torture. And With That Realization Came A Rush Of Numbness—what Was The Point Of Hating Valentine For Being A Monster When He Didn’t Even Know He Was One?