Hilary Mantel

- 'So you are here, uncle,' she says. Her voice is small. One by one she acknowledges them. 'Lord Chancellors. Master Treasurer.' Other councillors are pushing in behind them. Many people, it seems, have dreamed of this moment; they have dreamed that Anne would plead with them on her knees. 'My lord Oxford,' she says. 'And William Sandys. How are you, Sir William?' It is as if she finds it soothing, to name them all. 'And you, Cremuel.' She leans forward. 'You know, I created you.'
- 'And he created you, madam,' Norforlk snaps. 'And be sure he repents him of it.'
- 'But I was sorry first,' Anne says. She laughs. 'And I am sorry more.