“Seriously?” he demanded. “I’ve seen the kit you’ve got laid out there. I’ve known priests of the blood god who would have been oohing and aahing over some of those toys, and asking who your torturer was so they could book him for parties. So honestly, who’s the one doing bad stuff and claiming to be good, exactly?”
Ethical conversations abound, but Tchaikovsky never resorts to the sort of pedantry Pullman is prone to.
