“As she walked, she breathed a quick benediction to the patron saint of sleuthing. "Nancy Drew," she whispered, "be with me now.”

“She [Clinton] walks in front of me, she walks in front of me, you know. And when she walked in front of me, believe me I wasn't impressed.”

“she whispered.
I took a deep breath, I said, blinking back tears.”

“There’s something
so great about this,” she whispers.
About what?” I whisper back.

About this,” she whispers.
About being outlaws.
It’s just you and me—against the world.”

“She throws a kiss, and bids me run
In whispers sweet as roses’ breath;
I know I can not win the race,
And at the end, I know, is death.”

“I remember when I moved in you
And the holy dove she was moving too,
And every single breath that we drew was
Hallelujah.”

“Clary," he whispered. There was a thump, and she realized he had fallen to his kees by the side of her bed. She didn't move, but her body tightened. His voice was a whisper. "Clary, it's me. It's me.”

“Like other ghosts, she whispers; not for me to join her, but so that, when I'm close enough, she can push me back into the world.”

“Please," she whispered as she opened the book, "please get me out of here just for an hour or so, please take me far, far away”

“She was no breath freshener, I can tell you that right now.”