Etiquette And Espionage Quotes

It's no good choosing your first husband from a school for evil geniuses. Much too difficult to kill.

If there is gossip to be garnered, garner it. If there are new dress styles to be imitated, imitate them. If there are hearts to be broken, break them. That's my girls.

He ... boasted an unassuming mustache, which was perched atop his upper lip cautiously, as though it were slightly embarrassed to be there and would like to slide away and become a sideburn or something more fashionable.

I do not giggle without purpose. Lady Linette says you should never misapply a giggle.

No one said learning etiquette and espionage would be easy, my dear.

What’s that?” she asked the girl, wrinkling her nose. “Oh, that? That’s just Pillover.” “And what’s a pillover, when it’s at home?” “My little brother.” “Ah, I commiserate. I have several of my own. Dashed inconvenient, brothers.

She had to give her teachers credit: they were right to insist all pupils carry scissors, handkerchiefs, perfume and hair ribbons at all times. At some point she'd learn why they also required a red lace doily and a lemon.

It'll all end in tears and oil.

But I don't want to be a vampire drone.' Sophronia winced. 'They'll suck my blood and make me wear only the very latest fashions.

The bowl landed, in glorious perfection, atop the head of Mrs Barnaclegoose, who was not the kind of woman to appreciate the finer points of being crowned by trifle.

Really, Sophronia, it makes me most uncomfortable how you manage to sort everything out every time I faint.

But we were talking about me and my problems." Sophronia looked Monique up and down gravely. "I don't think we're going to solve those in the space of one carriage ride.

Her hair was wild, her eyes were flashing, and her tattered underskirts floated around her. She looked like a glorious avenging goddess from some ancient erotic myth.

How often have I warned you against fraternizing with technology?

What on earth could we girls possibly learn from a werewolf?" Sophronia wondered. "How to keep a hat on no matter what the circumstances?" hazarded Dimity.

Who doesn’t want an exploding wicker chicken?

His eyes were jet-colored circles of perpetual disapproval.

Captain Niall, having apparently resigned himself to losing his quarry, was savaging her horsehair petticoat into teeny, tiny shreds. "Really, what did my poor petticoat do to offend?

Isn't Bunson's training evil geniuses?" "Yes, mostly." "Well, is that wise? Having a mess of seedling evil geniuses falling in love with you willy-nilly? What if they feel spurned?" "Ah, but in the interim, think of the lovely gifts they can make you. Monique bragged that one of her boys made her silver and wood hair sticks as anti-supernatural weapons. With amethyst inlay. And another made her an exploding wicker chicken." "Goodness, what's that for?" Dimity pursed her lips. "Who doesn't want an exploding wicker chicken?

How have I never noticed she only required praise to find me acceptable? wondered Sophronia, not quite realizing that this, too, was a mark of her new education. Many was the lady whose belief in another's sound judgment was based solely upon that other judging her favorably.

This is madness. Oh, well.

Bumbersnoot,

Dimity pursed her lips. “Who doesn’t want an exploding wicker chicken?

Miss Temminnick, you are in receipt of the highest marks we have ever given in a six-month review. Your mind seems designed for espionage. Nevertheless, you veer away from perfect in matters of etiquette. Do not let these marks go to your head; there are many girls at this school who are better than you. Our biggest concern is what you get up to when we are not watching. Because, if nothing else, this test has told us you are probably spying on us, as well as everyone around you.

Coming to the ball, Mr. Plumleigh-Teignmott?” “Ball? If you insist.” Pillover slid off his trunk, and Roger jumped down to help him load it into the cart. “Ball?” said one of the Pistons with interest. “We like balls.” Dimity gave them her best, most haughty look. “Yes, but are you certain they like you?

Some of the most disagreeable people I know are the most ladylike.

Now, remember, if there is gossip to be garnered, garner it. If there are new dress styles to be imitated, imitate them. If there are hearts to be broken, break them.

Her expression was that of a woman with multiple children who was no longer surprised by anything they did, up to and including arriving home from finishing school in an airdinghy.

How often have I warned you against fraternizing with technology?” Sophronia wondered if that was a rhetorical question and began counting up the number of times just in case it wasn’t.

A lady is never disreputable in public, unless intended for manipulation of sympathies.

Quietly Sophronia added, "And the soot on my dress, sir?" "I didn't see anything." Professor Braithwope smiled down at her, showing a small hint of fang. Sophronia grinned back. "I'm glad we understand each other, sir." The vampire looked out into the night. "This is the right finishing school for you, isn't it, whot?" "Yes sir, I think it might very well be." "A piece of advice, Miss Temminnick?" "Sir?" "It is a great skill to have friends in low places. They, too, have things to teach you." "Now, sir, I thought you didn't see any soot.

I’m overburdened by strange occurrences at the moment.

It is a great skill to have friends in low places. They, too, have things to teach you.

We are an institution of high learning and higher manners. We simply cannot shoot first; it isn’t done. Now, remember that, Miss Temminnick, do—a lady never shoots first. She asks questions, then she shoots.

Even children, Lady Linette said, must be allowed some time to conspire together.

Excellent. Ignorance is most undervalued in a student.

Sophronia was minding her own business and running late to luncheon, as was her custom. She'd let to learn the advantage of punctuality. As she told Sister Mattie the third time she was late to household potions and poisons, nothing interesting happened until after an event commenced.

But I don’t want to be a vampire drone.” Sophronia winced. “They’ll suck my blood and make me wear only the very latest fashions.

Knives can be quite useful to a lady of quality. Swords are for men; they are too easily caught in the skirts.

Monique stood, arms akimbo, some six or seven paces away from Sophronia, and letting forth a scream of unadulterated anger, she hurled a cheese pie at Sophronia's head.

He has very good judgment, for a, well …’ She paused, as though hunting for the right word. ‘Werewolf?’ suggested Sophronia. ‘Oh, no. For a man.

What Sophronia did not know, and had yet to learn to control, was that her smile was rather more powerful than most. The face she saw in the mirror each morning was passingly pretty, if not terribly thrilling, but when she smiled with the full force of her personality behind it, she came over vibrant and striking. It was one of the reasons Monique disliked her so.

Mummy and Daddy want him to be an evil genius, but he has his heart set on Latin verse. Don’t you, Pill?” The boy gave his sister a nasty stare. “Pillover is terribly bad at being bad, if you take my meaning. Our daddy is a founding member of the Death Weasel Confederacy, and Mummy is a kitchen chemist with questionable intent, but poor Pillover can’t even bring himself to murder ants with his Depraved Lens of Crispy Magnification. Can you, Pill?

Very good, Monique. Perfect as always. Next time, Sidheag, smaller handkerchief. A lady carries embroidered muslin, not-what on earth is that? A square of tweed? Really, girl! Dimity, watch your balance, and red? Dear, not read. You're not ready for red. Red is only for the advanced deployment of handkerchiefs.

Algebra was far more interesting when it was a matter of proportioning out mutton chops so as to poison only half of one’s dinner guests and then determining the relative value of purchasing a more expensive, yet more effective, antidote over a home remedy.

In all her fourteen long years, she had never stayed stationary and uninvolved in anything.

Petunia Temminnick’s coming-out ball was pronounced a resounding success by all in attendance. There had been highly intoxicating punch, a variety of dances, good music, and intermission entertainment. No one knew why the beautiful Miss Pelouse had stripped, rolled about in the garden, and then chucked a cheese pie at the youngest Temminnick girl before being taken away in floods of tears, but it was surely the highlight of a most enjoyable evening.

Very well, Miss Temminnick. Tell me a little about yourself. Are you well-educated?” Sophronia considered this question seriously. “I don’t believe so.” “Excellent. Ignorance is most undervalued in a student. And have you killed anyone recently?” Sophronia blinked. “Pardon?” “Oh, you know, a knife to the neck, or perhaps a cleverly noosed cravat?” Sophronia said only, “Not my preferred diversion.” “Oh, dear, how disappointing. Well, don’t you fret. We shall soon find you some useful hobby.

Ball?” said one of the Pistons with interest. “We like balls.” Dimity gave them her best, most haughty look. “Yes, but are you certain they like you?

The boy gestured with his chin at Dimity. “She was shot.” He sounded remarkably unconcerned for a brother with any degree of affection for his sibling.“Good lord!” Sophronia climbed in to see to her new friend’s health. The bullet had grazed Dimity’s shoulder. It had ripped her dress and left a partly burned gash behind, but didn’t look all that bad. Sophronia checked to make certain Dimity had no other injuries. Then she sat back on her heels.“Is that all? I’ve had worse scrapes from drinking tea. Why has she come over all crumpled?”Pillover rolled his eyes. “Faints at the sight of blood, our Dimity. Always has. Weak nerves,father says. It doesn’t even have to be her blood.

Most likely Pistons," said Pillover in a resigned tone of voice. "You told them about the ball. They like to go to events uninvited, put gin in the punch, and steal all the spoons. Stylish shenanigans like that." "Charming," said Sophronia.

pursed her lips. “Who doesn’t want an exploding wicker chicken?

The Pistons were partly distracted by this short but excitingly fiery chase, and partly distracted by a new threat in the form of a small but enraged Dimity. Dimity, bless her heart, was reciting one of Mademoiselle Geraldine’s longest lectures on proper behavior at a dance, finger shaking in autocratic fury, Lord Dingleproops notwithstanding.

He was very pale and boasted an unassuming mustache, which was perched atop his upper lip cautiously, as though it were slightly embarrassed to be there and would like to slide away and become a sideburn or something more fashionable.

As though growing up were something one could do contagiously, caught through associating with officious older sisters.

The mechanimal sat back on his haunches and sent a puff of smoke at her, tail wagging back and forth hopefully.

My eyelash fluttering is subpar.

Many was the lady whose belief in another’s sound judgment was based solely upon that other judging her favorably.

After a moment's consideration, she switched to the spot next to Pillover and attempted to read over his shoulder, ignoring his faint goaty smell. All boys smell of goat.

We could come up with a reasonable explanation for your wearing it. Would that help?" wheedled Sophronia. "Justification for my trotting around wearing a lady's undergarments? I hardly see how." Soap's eyes were sparkling with amusement, and Vieve was dimpling openly at the very idea of Pillover in a skirt. Pillover stood holding the petticoat between thumb and forefinger as if it were contaminated with some dreaded chemical. "Go on, pull it on over you clothes and go out there," Sophronia urged. "You could say you were running some experiment dangerous to your nether regions," suggested Vieve. "You could say you were testing the response time of the maid mechanicals," suggested Sophronia. "You could say you like ladies' undergarments," suggested Soap. "I'm doomed." Pillover rolled his eyes and flapped the petticoat.

Well, let me go and wake Soap." "Oh, no need to disturb him." "Course there's need. Why do you think I was set to watch the hatch? Waiting on the ghost of boilers past? He'll box my ears if I don't tell him you came.

Ball?" said one of the Pistons with interest. "We like balls." Dimity gave them her best, most haughty look. "Yes, but are you certain they like you?" "What's that supposed to mean?" Sophronia whispered to her. Pillover joined them, as confident in his new situation as if he had always expected to set off with his sister and two other girls in a farm cart. "I don't know," replied Dimity as they drove away. "It sounded good at the time.

They can’t all be as charming as me,” Vieve replied with a smile. “Or as adorable as me,” added Soap, coming up behind Vieve and nicking her cap. “Good evening, Miss Temminnick; Vieve. To what do we owe this honor? Shouldn’t you be watching a play or something highfalutin in town?” “Give it back!” Vieve made a grab for her hat, but Soap held it out of reach. “Can’t stand the theater.” “And I’m not allowed,” Sophronia added. “But Soap, Vieve and I were wondering if you could help us get out?” “Out?” “We want to pay a visit to Bunson’s.” “But why? No one will be there.” “Exactly,” crowed Vieve. “They’ve got something we want to see.” Soap was suspicious. “What kind of something?” “A communication machine,” Sophronia explained. Vieve nodded, grinning. Soap looked back and forth between them. He ended with Sophronia. “Not you as well? Gone barmy over mechanics, have you? I should never have introduced you two. It’ll all end in tears and oil.