Citater
could have slipped into the yawning shadows of the bishop’s residence and snapped the neck of that sanctimonious prick leading the charge.
“Oh my God, stop it!” I can’t help my laughter. “You’re not dying.”
He winces with pain. “I might, after your mother finds out about this.”
He winces with pain. “I might, after your mother finds out about this.”
We’re heading back down this dangerous path again—where Tyler flirts shamelessly and I read too much into it, where I let false hope trick me into believing something that isn’t true.
Vurderinger
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