Allan Malcolmson

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The army swallowed bread, beer, and coin at an unsustainable rate. Old resentments bred internal violence and that violence bred new resentments in turn. They were killing each other in brawls, coughing up their lungs, choking up the Inirein with their bloody shit and the sky with the ash of their corpses. An army in camp was a terrible thing.
The Traitor Baru Cormorant (The Masquerade, #1)
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