And Therefor," Said Magnus "we Must Go."

He Was Gazing At Her, The Way One Did When One Felt One Was Unobserved. He Had That Look On His Face, The Look He Usually Got Only When He Was Playing The Violin, As If He Were Completely Caught Up And Entranced.

He Had To Think He Was Michael Wayland’s Son, Or The Lightwoods Would Not Have Protected Him As They Did. It Was Michael They Owed A Debt To, Not Me. It Was On Michael’s Account That They Loved Him, Not Mine.” “maybe They Loved Him On His Own Account,” Said Clary.

He’s Very Pretty. For A Human.” “he’s Very Broken,” Said Magnus. “like A Lovely Vase That Someone Has Smashed. Only Luck And Skill Can Put It Back Together The Way It Was Before.

It Was Books That Made Me Feel That Perhaps I Was Not Completely Alone. They Could Be Honest With Me, And I With Them.

But Am I Clever And Right Or Clever And Wrong?