Most Fiction Series Are Written So That

I‟m Going To Kill Her,” Francesca Said To No One In Particular. Which Was Probably A Good Thing, As There Was No One Else Present. “who Are You Talking To?” Hyacinth Demanded. “god,” Francesca Said Baldly. “and I Do Believe I Have Been Given Divine Leave To Murder You.” “hmmph,” Was Hyacinth‟s Response. “if It Was That Easy, I‟d Have Asked Permission To Eliminate Half The Ton Years Ago.” Francesca Decided Just Then That Not All Of Hyacinth‟s Statements Required A Rejoinder. In Fact, Few Of Them Did.

Because If He Looked Like He Was Unaffected By Her Smile, Then She Would Not Realize That, In Actuality, He Was In An Utter Panic Because Somewhere Deep Down Inside He’d Realized That His Life Had Just Changed Forever.

Besides," He Said Breezily, "were It Not For Misunderstandings, We Would Be Sadly Lacking In Great Literature." She Looked At Him Questioningly. "where Would Romeo And Juliet Be?" "alive.

Let Me Drive," She Said, Reaching For The Reins. He Turned To Her In Disbelief. "this Is A Phaeton, Not A Single-horse Wagon." Sophie Fought The Urge To Throttle Him. His Nose Was Running, His Eyes Were Red, He Couldn't Stop Coughing, And Still He Found The Energy To Act Like An Arrogant Peacock. "i Assure You," She Said Slowly, "that I Know How To Drive A Team Of Horses.

You Should Be Thankful That Dark Colors Suit You. Not Everyone Wears Black Well." "why, Lady Olivia, Is That A Compliment?" "not So Much As A Compliment To You As An Insult To Everyone Else," She Assured Him. "thanks Heaven For That. I Don't Think I Would Know How To Conduct Myself In A World In Which You Offered Compliments.