Quote:Catwoman returned from her evening prowl, pulled off her mask, left the terrace doors open, and walked to the kitchen. She took a chilled bottle from the refrigerator and returned to the living room.

“I just noticed something–”

She gasped.

Did he always have to sneak up like that!

She held up a finger that warned “Don’t say a single word” and walked deliberately up to him until the finger touched his lips. She took his hand in hers, and walked him to the doorframe, formed the hand into a fist and methodically wrapped the gloved knuckles into the wood.

“This,” she said, “is called KNOCKING.”

Quote:By the time they reached the club, Daniel the
accommodating (and terrified) doorman practically ushered them in.  There was
Two-Face, scarred side of his mouth gushing blood, arms wrapped around Joker’s
shoulder, ramming the dazed clown into the wall head first.  Joker clutched a broken bottle and tried to stab his
assailant in the thigh while Harley Quinn jumped on his back yelling “Put my
Puddin’ down!”

While Nightwing watched the scene in wonder,
trying to decide how (and when) to intervene, Robin nudged him and pointed. 
At a side table, Scarecrow sat before an impressive stack of cash with Hugo
Strange, Killer Croc, and some nameless nogoodniks huddled round.

Nightwing walked over to their table, neatly
sidestepping the scuffle as Ivy pulled Harley off Two-Face and Harley spun
around and slapped her.

‘Wing held out a
$50 bill and asked, “What’re the odds on Harley?”

Scarecrow looked up
at him suspiciously, “You want to place a bet?”

“What, my
money’s no good here?” Nightwing snarled.

Scarecrow looked at Hugo Strange, who shrugged.  Scarecrow took the bill and muttered “3 to 1 on Blondie.” There was a slight
murmur of approval from the assembled rogues at this unexpectedly matey behavior
from the vigilantes.

Quote:It was at the end of Day Four when Alfred
entered the study to collect the untouched lunchtray and stone cold cup of
tea, that he found Selina staring, not at the computer screen but out the
window, with a cold, hollow glare.
“Where is he, Alfred? Where is he right
now?”

Alfred didn’t know Selina had a “Catwoman
voice” the same way Master Bruce assumed a deep growl when thinking as Batman,
and the revelation gave him a chill. Nevertheless, he answered with the same
butler’s detachment he would assume with Master Bruce:

“Downstairs, Miss,” he said, meaning the
cave. “He returned a few minutes ago.”

Selina stormed out in the direction of the
grandfather clock. Alfred glanced at the laptop screen and saw a scanned memo on
LexCorp letterhead with a brief hand-written postscript:

Beloved,
why must we still be at odds since I’ve abandoned my father? This opposition
is as needless as it is futile.