What Were You Thinking?" Bast Said With

Old Cob Tucked Away His Bowl Of Stew With The Predatory Efficency Of A Lifetime Bachelor.

Secrets Of The Heart. We Swallow Hard Against Them Every Day, Forcing Them Deep Inside Us. There They Sit, Growing Heavier, Festering. Given Enough Time, They Cannot Help But Crush The Heart That Holds Them.

Reading Aloud Sounds Like A Good Idea, But Honestly, It Doesn't Work Very Well. Good Dialogue In A Book Doesn't Actually Bear Much Resemblance To Real-life Dialogue. For Example, If You've Ever Seen A Word-for-word Transcript Of People Talking, It Doesn't Read Off The Page Very Well. The Trick Is To Make It *seem* Like It's Being Spoken, Not To Make It Speakable.

After An Awkward Pause, Bast Extended His Hand. Chronicler Hesitated For A Bare Moment Before Reaching Out Quickly, As If He Were Sticking His Hand Into A Fire. Nothing Happened, Both Of Them Seemed Moderately Surprised. "amazing, Isn't It?" Kvothe Addressed Them Bitingly. "five Fingers And Flesh With Blood Beneath. One Could Almost Believe That On The Other End Of That Hand Lay A Person Of Some Sort.

I'm Not A Stereotypical Professor Type. I Don't Smoke A Pipe And Wear A Tweedy Jacket. I'm More Like A Student Who Stayed At The University For So Long That They Gave Him A Job To Keep Him Out Of Trouble.