God Knows We’re All Drawn To What’s

But You Have To Learn To Bend A Little," Said Clary With A Yawn. Despite The Story's Content, The Rhythm Of Jace's Voice Had Made Her Sleepy. "or You'll Break." "not If Your Strong Enough," Said Jace Firmly. He Reached Out, And She Felt The Back Of His Hand Brush Her Cheek.

You Don't Need To Worry, Though. He's Not My Type." "i Don't Think I've Ever Heard A Girl Say That Before," Said Simon. "i Thought Jace Was The Kind Of Guy Who Was Everyone's Type.

Anyone That Looked Like That Wouldn't Need To Tie Up Girls And Imprison Them In Order To Get Them To Marry Him

Are You, Monsieur, A Man Of Your Word?" "it Really Depends Upon The Word," Magnus Said. "there Are So Many Wonderful Words.

She Opened Her Mouth To Answer, But He Was Already Kissing Her. She Had Kissed Him So Many Times—soft Gentle Kisses, Hard And Desperate Ones, Brief Brushes Of The Lips That Said Good-bye, And Kisses That Seemed To Go On For Hours—and This Was No Different. The Way The Memory Of Someone Who Had Once Lived In A House Might Linger Even After They Were Gone, Like A Sort Of Psychic Imprint, Her Body Remembered Jace. Remembered The Way He Tasted, The Slant Of His Mouth Over Hers, His Scars Under Her Fingers, The Shape Of His Body Under Her Hands.