...I found pens, ink, and paper, and I husbanded them to the utmost; and I shall show that while my ink lasted, I kept things very exact, but after that was gone I could not, for I could not make any ink by any means that I could devise.

Mona: A living mannequin is in our midst, and you're worried about your fashion show outfit?! Just look at her, trying to be inconspicuous.

She drizzled them in slowly and listened to the susurration of the bolts pachinkoing their way through the refrigerators and fax machines, on their way to some illegal dump.

Is it because this supposes an undifferentiated violence towards others and oneself that I could ill imagine in a woman?