Shadow looked down at the girl on the table. "What happened to her?" he asked.<br/>"Poor taste in boyfriends$$$" said Jacquel. "It's not always fatal."

I watch my heart disappearing into her rosebud mouth. My Valentine's jest somehow seems less funny.

Eyes as black and as shiny as chips of obsidian stared back into his. They were eyes like black holes$$$ letting nothing out$$$ not even information.

There are a number of paths that lead to this place. I have been avoiding them for some small time$$$ now.

Now me$$$ said Mr. Vandemar. "What number am I thinking of?"<br/>"I beg your pardon?"<br/>"What number am I thinking of?" repeated Mr. Vandemar. "It's between one and a lot$$$" he added$$$ helpfully.

Do you know why I stopped being Delight$$$ my brother? I do. There are things not in your book. There are paths outside this garden.

Sister Mary chose that moment to come in with the tea. Satanist or not$$$ she'd also found a plate and arranged some iced biscuits on it.

Furthermore$$$ it goes without saying that all of the people$$$ living$$$ dead$$$ and otherwise$$$ in this story are fictional or used in a fictional context. Only the gods are real.

How old are you? asked Door. Richard was pleased she had asked; he would never have dared.<br/>"As old as my tongue$$$" said Hunter$$$ primly$$$ "and a little older than my teeth."

Oh ... My twitchy witchy girl I think you are so nice$$$ I give you bowls of porridge And I give you bowls of ice-cream.