Still more sentences I like, in an entirely different month

"Clocks, Nyluuund!" It was a not-too rare moment of idleness on the floor and the Superior was demonstrating to Nylund the finer points of haberdashery his own person embodied. At his moment he had his trouser leg raised to reveal a blue-grey sock with a white and gold seal woven just above the ankle. A black strap was clipped on to the sock and ran out to garter at the man's thin, shiny white shin. With a wag of his heel the Superior let his thin blue-grey pantleg fall back into place. He settled on his feet, dragged his legs together, clicked his gleaming heels, and, like a Marine, took a half step forward before wheeling to turn to Nylund his back. He stuck an index finger in either side of his jacket to pull it taut. "Vents!" He swung back around, heels clicking, and stopped with his two hands pointing at the floor to show the straight lines of his jacket and a hint of cuff covering the tops of his hands. "Cuffs," he barked, grinning, enjoying his display too much to maintain the proper rigor. Then, bending his elbows like Carmen Miranda, he crowed, "Links!" Leaning in close to Nylund, who was himself resting against a thickly polished endtable, he shoved his throat up into Nylund's line of sight. Minute gold and purple diamonds paved its swellings and withdrawals. "Knot! Study it! It is too difficult for you, but I am here as an example, even for unattainable goals."

Joyelle McSweeney
Nylund, the Sarcophager