Betrayal would be a different sort of sick.

Sometimes it is better not to know. Sometimes when you do know you just fold up.

But I'm going to try to tell the truth. Except for the parts I'm leav­ing out, because there's still stuff I'm just not going to tell you. Get used to it.

Can you trust me, he said. Not will you. Can you. Can I trust him? What do I have to lose?

The magic in that country was so thick and tenacious that it settled over the land like chalk-dust and over floors and shelves like slightly sticky plaster-dust. (Housecleaners in that country earned unusually good wages.) If you lived in that country, you had to de-scale your kettle of its encrustation of magic at least once a week, because if you didn't, you might find yourself pouring hissing snakes or pond slime into your teapot instead of water.

If you wish, I shall go personally to your City and knock together the heads of Perlith and Galooney.

I didn’t want to know that the monster that lived under your bed when you were a kid not only really is there but used to have a few beers with your dad.