Is There A Connection Between Language And

You Are An Educated Man. You Know There Are No Such Things As Demons." Bast Smiled A Terrible Smile. "there Is Only My Kind." Bast Leaned Closer Still, Chronicler Smelled Flowers On His Breath. "you Are Not Wise Enough To Fear Me As I Should Be Feared. You Do Not Know The First Note Of The Music That Moves Me.

You See, Women Are Like Fires, Like Flames. Some Women Are Like Candles, Bright And Friendly. Some Are Like Single Sparks, Or Embers, Like Fireflies For Chasing On Summer Nights. Some Are Like Campfires, All Light And Heat For A Night And Willing To Be Left After. Some Women Are Like Hearthfires, Not Much To Look At But Underneath They Are All Warm Red Coal That Burns A Long, Long While.

It Wasn't Even A Good Note. 'if You Are Reading This I Am Probably Dead.' What Sort Of A Note Is That?

I Believe It, Chronicler Found Himself Thinking. Before It Was Just A Story, But Now I Can Believe It. This Is The Face Of A Man Who Has Killed An Angel.

Bones Mend. Regret Stays With You Forever.