An Unnatural Vice (Sins of the Cities, #2)

by K.J. Charles

If there was one kind of client Justin Lazarus loathed more than the rest, it was a crier. Actually, that wasn’t true. He loathed the ones with groping hands just as much, and the ones who barked orders as though he were the footman and ought to be delivering messages from the Other Side on a silver salver. In fact, when he thought about it, the client he loathed most at any given time was whichever one was sitting in front of him. But he really did hate tears, and snot, and the obligation to offer sympathy.

Everyone divided the world into us and them, the people for whom one cared and fought, and the people whose interests one might disregard. One’s family, of course, or the friends so close as to be family, and then expanding circles of care and duty. Some looked out for the interests of their own neighbours, their class and society and damn the rest; some extended their duty of care to entire professions. Some fought for larger groups: the children of London, the poor and sick of England, an entire subcontinent. He’d never met anyone with such a tiny circle of care as Justin.

And I have frequently observed that a good way to find out what a man fears in himself is to see what he attacks in others.”