All the friends in the world are in the fountain of a pen.

He pointed at the caiques, but Peppone declined the librarian’s offer, saying only, “Do you think the proprietor of the inn where we met will report us?” “The money I left him was more than enough to silence his alarms,” said Danaco. “Gold has an amazing habit of altering memories.

Tell me, Peppone, what other talents do you have besides erasing undesirables?” “I enjoy a fair bit of sneaking, sir. I also enjoy pilfering and killing as a professional courtesy.” “What a delightfully horrid urchin you are.” “Thank you, sir.

The dust of thirty years hung lifeless in shafts of morning light, the gilding of perfectly prim pages shone incanescent, the shriek of rolling ladders mourned in perennial soliloquy.