“What excellent work, eh? The irony of it! To leave you half your teeth, but not a one of ’em any use! I have soup most days.” The Master of the Mints swallowed hard. Glokta could see a drop of sweat running down his neck. “And the teeth were just the beginning. I have to piss sitting down like a woman, you know. I’m thirty-five years old, and I need help getting out of bed.” He leaned back again and stretched out his leg with a wince. “Every day is its own little hell for me. Every day. So tell me, can you seriously believe that anything you might say could scare me?”
