Ductwork Quotes

It were as though the building’s kilometres of clanky old ductwork connected up to an asthmatic giant with poor oral hygiene, hidden away somewhere in the basement.

Marcellus, it’s me.” The octopus shifts slightly out of its corner and peers at her, blinking its creepy eye. Who is this lady? And how did she get in here, anyway? She nods, encouraging. “It’s okay.” She holds out her hand, and to Cameron’s shock the creature extends one of its arms and winds it around her wrist. She repeats, “It’s okay. I’m going to help you down now, all right?” The octopus nods. Wait, no. It did not. Did it? He rubs his eyes. Are they pumping hallucinogens through the ductwork here?

Cassie?” It’s Sammy, holding on to Ben, because he’s feeling the Ben thing a little more than he is the Cassie one at the moment. Who’s this guy falling from the ductwork, and what’s he doing with my sister? “This must be Sammy,” Evan says. “This is Sammy,” I say. “Oh! And this is—” “Ben Parish,” Ben says. “Ben Parish?” Evan looks at me. That Ben Parish? “Ben,” I say, my face on fire. I want to laugh and crawl under the counter at the same time. “This is Evan Walker.” “Is he your boyfriend?” Sammy asks. I don’t know what to say. Ben looks totally lost, Evan completely amused, and Sammy just damned curious. It’s my first truly awkward moment in the alien lair, and I’d been through my share of moments. “He’s a friend from high school,” I mutter. And Evan corrects me, since it’s clear I’ve lost my mind. “Actually, Sam, Ben is Cassie’s friend from high school.” “She’s not my friend,” Ben says. “I mean, I guess I kind of remember her…” Then Evan’s words sink in. “How do you know who I am?” “He doesn’t!” I fairly shout. Cassie told me about you,” Evan says. I elbow him in the ribs, and he gives me a look like What? “Maybe we can chat about how everybody knows one another later

Contrary to popular belief, a nursing mother’s breasts are not full of milk. They’re swollen, sure, sometimes to the point that they resemble fleshy water balloons, but they’re full of blood, fat, and glandular tissue. There’s no bladder in a breast that holds a sloshing cup of milk that empties as the baby nurses and then gradually fills up again, ready for next time. Even a dairy cow’s udder isn’t the bag of milk you might think it to be; like us, a cow’s udder is a visible mound of mammary tissue, along with a few nipples.[*10] The ductwork of a nursing human breast can hold, at most, a couple of tablespoons of milk at a time. It’s the act of suckling that normally triggers a breast’s “let-down reflex”—a cascade of signals that tell the milk glands to kick up production and dump fresh milk out the front door.

Nothing deterred the house from playing selections from the band’s first two albums—not even Sarah’s defenestration of three record players, an eight-track tape machine, and an ancient Dictaphone. The house simply diverted the music through the furnace, the bass notes reverberating in the ductwork while the treble wafted from the heating vents.