“Are you certain you want something so, er, ambitious?” the man asked. “Is ambition such an unseemly attribute in a young woman?” “Well, no, I suppose not.” He smiled again—the thick, toothy smile of a merchant trying to put someone at ease. “I can see you are a woman of discriminating taste.” “I am,” Shallan said, voice firm though her heart fluttered. Was she destined to get into an argument with everyone she met? “I do like my meals prepared very carefully, as my palate is quite delicate.” “Pardon. I meant that you have discriminating taste in books.” “I’ve never eaten one, actually.”
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