So this was a nest of radicals. She thought a hotbed of sedition would involve more gunpowder and secret handshakes, and less shuffling of feet and passing the sugar.
Frances HardingeThat," he whispered, "is unthinkable." In Moscaโs experience, such statements generally meant that a thing was perfectly thinkable, but that the speaker did not want to think it.
Frances HardingeMosca and Saracen shared, if not a friendship, at least the solidarity of the generally despised. Mosca assumed that Saracen had his reasons for his persecution of terriers and his possessive love of the malthouse roof. In turn, when Mosca had interrupted Saracenโs self-important nightly patrol and scooped him up, Saracen had assumed that she too had her reasons.
Frances HardingeTruth is dangerous. It topples palaces and kills kings. It stirs gentle men to rage and bids them take up arms. It wakes old grievances and opens forgotten wounds. It is the mother of the sleepless night and the hag-ridden day. And yet there is one thing that is more dangerous than Truth. Those who would silence Truthโs voice are more destructive by far. It is most perilous to be a speaker of Truth. Sometimes one must choose to be silent, or be silenced. But if a truth cannot be spoken, it must at least be known. Even if you dare not speak truth to others, never lie to yourself.
Frances HardingeYes, I know,โ she said in answer to the unasked, for there was no time for explanations. โYes. My face is spoilt.โ Grandibleโs jowl wobbled and creased. Then, for the first time that Neverfell could remember, he changed to a Face she had never seen before, a frown more ferocious and alarming than either of the others. โWho the shambles told you that?โ he barked. โSpoilt? Iโll spoil them.โ He took hold of her chin and examined her. โA bit sadder, maybe. A bit wiser. But nothing rotten. Youโre just growing yourself a rind at last. Still a good cheese.
Frances Hardinge