Kill Me, Little Sister. Kill Me And

Clary," Jace Said Again. "you Know: Short, Redheaded, Bad Temper.

Concerned About My Safety, Are You? -william Herondale.

When You Find A Man You Wish To Marry, Tessa, Remember This: You Will Know What Kind Of Man He Is Not By The Things He Says, But By The Things He Does.

Keep Up," Said An Irritable Voice In Her Ear. It Was Jace, Who Had Dropped Back To Walk Beside Her. "i Don't Want To Have To Keep Looking Behind Me To Make Sure Nothing's Happened To You." "so Don't Bother." "last Time I Left You Alone, A Demon Attacked You," He Pointed Out. "well, I'd Certainly Hate To Interrupt Your Pleasant Night Stroll With My Sudden Death." He Blinked. "there Is A Fine Line Between Sarcasm And Outright Hostility, And You Seem To Have Crossed It.

Clary: What Are You Doing Here, Anyway? Jace: 'here' As In Your Bedroom Or 'here' As In The Great Spiritual Question Of Our Purpose Here On This Planet? If You're Asking Whether It's All Just A Cosmic Coincidence Or There's A Greater Metaethical Purpose To Life, Well, That's A Puzzler For The Ages. I Mean, Simple Ontological Reductionism Is Clearly A Fallacious Argument, But- Clary: I'm Going To Bed.