Fang Was Going To Kill Me. And

Tears Were Dripping Onto My Dress, But I Wasn't Making Any Sound. There Was No Sound To Express Thid Kind Of Pain. I Didn't Want To Move, Didn't Want To Do Anything. Fang Was Not Waiting For Me Out In The Living Room. Tomorrow Morning, When I Woke Up, Fang Would Still Be Gone.

Like A Good Song, Life Has Verses, The Goliards Had Taught Me. Each Verse Has To Be Sung. It Takes All Of Them To Make A Song. It Is The Entire Chanson You Name, But When You Think Of It, When You Smile, It Is A Favorite Verse That Delights Your Ears.

I Stared At Her In Amazement. "how Do You Even Live With Yourself?"..."you're Willing To Sell Children To A Foreign Government So They Can Be Used As Weapons, Possibly Against Other Americans. I Don't Get It. Were You Hiding Behind A Door On Morals And Ethics Day?...you Couldn't Mother Someone If They Shot Five Gallons Of Estrogen Into Your Veins.

You...are...a...frige...with...wings...we...are...freaking...ballet...dancers!

Yes. I Owed My Life, Angel's Life, And My Mother's Life To A Mutant's Ability To Create Industrial-strength Snot.