Words were dangerous when loosed. They were more powerful than cannon and more unpredictable than storms. They could turn menโs heads inside out and warp their destinies. They could pick up kingdoms and shake them until they rattled.
Frances HardingeMosca said nothing. The word โdamselโ rankled with her. She suddenly thought of the clawed girl from the night before, jumping the filch on an icy street. Much the same age and build as Beamabeth, and far more beleaguered. What made a girl a โdamsel in distressโ? Were they not allowed claws? Mosca had a hunch that if all damsels had claws they would spend a lot less time โin distressโ.
Frances HardingeIn Moscaโs experience, a โlong storyโ was always a short story someone did not want to tell.
Frances HardingeIf you want someone to tell you what to think," the phantom answered briskly, without looking up, "you will never be short of people willing to do so." . . . "Come now," he said at last, "you can hardly claim that I have left you ignorant. I taught you to read, did I not?
Frances HardingeI find it hard to believe that a lady like...โ Pertellis hesitated, and coughed. โThere is something elevated in the female spirit that will always hold a woman back from the coldest and most vicious forms of villainy.โ โNo, there isnโt,โ Miss Kitely said kindly but firmly, as she set a dish in his hand. โDrink your chocolate, Mr Pertellis.
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