More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
his tiny moth voice.
Poppy was always served after a feast: it clarified the mind and stimulated the tongue, and made for rich conversation.
“Belacqua? No. You are Lyra Silvertongue,”
He lifted Moxie out of the way and softly hushed her sleepy protest.
That is what the Church does, and every church is the same: control, destroy, obliterate every good feeling.
the world seemed suspended between breathing in and breathing out.
