Character: Minho

If the other side won't see you, remember: I love you.

- How would she know who you are? replied Minho. And then, it doesn't matter. If someone tries to kill you, me or anybody else of ours -- he will have to deal with all our company. Am I right?
- You're so sweet, snorted Frypan. - Go ahead and embrace death along with Thomas. But, I washed away under the guise. Guilt somehow survive.

- I wonder what this test is different from a Maze? In the Glade, we were locked inside walls and stocked with everything necessary for survival, but here nothing hinders, but almost no supplies. I think it's called irony.
- Sort of - agreed to Minho. You're a philosopher.

Believe. Like the fact that you're starting to fart a cure Flash!

Come on, man. Head Bo-Bo, yeah, but I don't know how long I'll be able to restrain prisoners.

The real you wouldn't be trying to tygacil me an inheritance!
- Why? It is necessary to keep the population future Minoret.

So, tell me, as the little green men you rolled on the great and terrible plate.

A couple of hours ago we had to take a break and sleep. However, thanks to Mr. Coney, he lightly slapped Thomas in the head - ran, as Tuzik, until dawn, to him. Nevertheless need to rest. Under the sheets, but will relax.

- Stop guessing, come on. It's time to look around. - Stretching sheet, Thomas tightly wrapped in it, like the old woman in a shawl. - Well, how?
- Stupid - said Minho. - That is how sancetta, scary which I never saw. Thank the gods for that made you guy.
Thank you.

This thing is dripping on your head, wraps around the face and bites into his neck. Bites clean. What a beauty. Just no words.

Kettle, if you think accomplished the feat, look here. You're just the most rassmy fucking weird rowed, of all fucked in the head fucked the most. You're already dead, just as we are.