There in that white-gilt bedroom like a tomb, where I believe none of Gatsby's guests had ever before set foot except by mistake — none until Daisy, and I was only her adjunct and proxy, an accessory to her presence there in the house. He had forgotten about me then. He had forgotten about me now. I was his only witness.
“Oh,” Qingming breathes out, his shoulders sinking deep with it, “how fortunate.”
Yes, Boya thinks, foolish and giddy and wrecked with affirmation, how fortunate.
It is not at all something terrible that must be endured for a greater good’s sake.
Krennic contemplates the dizzying array of interplanetary sexual diversity. Galen is mortified.
Don't think of it as workplace sexual harassment; consider it feedback.
The Baron takes liberties.
"Have you been with my husband, Harley?"
Holden and Kemper, Kemper and Holden.
Will Graham is very, very tired.
There are prisons, and prisoners.