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720 pages, Hardcover
First published July 4, 2011
"What remarkable times we live in," commented Alexia, her eyes sparkling at the spectacular sight.
Ivy was not as impressed. "It is not natural, mankind taking to the skies."
[Mr. Siemons] picked up Dr. Neebs's long sharp surgical knife and moved at her unexpectedly fast for such a well-fed man.
"Ah." Alexia grinned. "I win." Professor Lyall sighed, looked briefly up toward the moon, and said as though appealing to a higher deity, "Alphas."
Ivy waved the wet handkerchief, as much as to say, words cannot possibly articulate my profound distress. Then, because Ivy never settled for meaningful gestures when verbal embellishments could compound the effect, she said, "Words cannot possibly articulate my profound distress."
"Had I died, I should never have lived it down!"
"Let me understand this correctly. You are a werewolf with a keen interest in sheep breeding?"
"I preserve the nonviable embryo in formaldehyde for future study. Lord Maccon has been drinking my samples. When confronted, he admitted to enjoying both the refreshing beverage and the 'crunchy pickled snack' as well. I was not pleased."
It was difficult to see the exact nature of his expression as, in addition to the ubiquitous mustache, the clockmaker also wore a golden-brown beard of such epic proportions as might dwarf a mulberry bush. It was as though his mustache had become overly enthusiastic and, seized with the spirit of adventure, set out to conquer the southern reaches of his face in a take-no-prisoners kind of way.
White nightgowns to the rescue, thought Alexia happily.