Terry Pratchett

Mort

was evaporating like silver steam.

. He stared at it sorrowfully.

, accounting for her rather idiosyncratic attractiveness. They were never more apparent than now. Even Cutwell was impressed. When it came to determination, you could have cracked rocks on her jaw.

, she said:

Mort was already aware that love made you feel hot and cold and cruel and weak, but he hadn't realized that it could make you stupid.

and he had invited a few friends round for a drink, five hundred of them in this case, and was letting off fireworks. Laughter and the occasional gurgle of passion filled the palace gardens, and the evening had just got to that interesting stage where everyone had drunk too much for their own good but not enough actually to fall over. It is the kind of state in which one does things that one will recall with crimson shame in later life, such as blowing through a paper squeaker and laughing so much that one is sick.

Mort slid off his back and helped Ysabell down.