Philippa Ballantine

"She groaned as her face turned to press against the rosewood floor. "Welly, remind me to order a better mattress for my bed. This one is far too firm."

"Oh, Eliza," Wellington gasped, now remembering why he was in these lush surroundings. "No broken nose, I hope."

"Sall right," Braun slurred. Her voiced dropped to a whisper. "My ample bosom broke my fall."

"Mortals were such fickle creatures. They called into the dark, demanded answers and attention from forces they could not comprehend, and yet when they had that attention and those answers, they complained about them.”"

"Be that as it may, we were--and no doubt, still are--held under scrutiny, with that whole Phoenix Society brouhaha. It is imperative we remain on our best behaviour, a feat that you did not exactly manage effortlessly with your shenanigans in Edinburgh"

"I think you will agree the sign of a civilised society is a regular dining schedule."

"She sighed heavily before whispering, “I’m still a bit confused as to what we are waiting for.” “We are waiting for one of the constants in our world, Miss Braun,” Wellington assured her. “At the end of every opera, there is the grand finale, where the music continues its gradual crescendo, the tenor and tempo rising ever so gradually for that pinnacle of dramatic tension, that moment of anticipation—” “Welly, are you talking about opera or about sex?” His next words caught in his throat. For a woman of higher tastes and seeming refinement, this woman could be utterly crass."

"Nay, you attract mayhem, chaos, and anarchy wherever your delicate feet tread. Around you there is no such thing as a coincidence."

"Why do you think it is always me, Director?" Eliza protested. "It could be Books. My father always told me to beware the quiet ones"

"Humans don’t like correction,” Father’s sub-routine reminded her. “Especially by our kind"