What Stalks the Deep (Sworn Soldier, #3)

by T. Kingfisher

We grow turnips and sheep, but our primary export is people who want to get the hell away from it.

The way he pronounced dark as dahhhk was so pure that I had an involuntary urge to snatch up the teapot and find a harbor to dump it in.

“That is horrifying and I want to go home,” I said, although I pronounced it, “Ah. I see.”

Christ’s blood. No wonder Americans all move like they’ve got extra space around them. If their country was a house, it would be one of those monstrous old ramblers that no one can afford to heat in the winter. They probably develop drafts in New York because someone left a window open in San Francisco.