“I thought maybe my mother taught you, too, at least in the reality of the lie you’ve chosen to tell me.” “I was not with her long enough to learn a joke,” he said, laughing. “You don’t have to be rude about it.” “I already didn’t speak Galtish before she didn’t teach me to speak it.” “Well, you should learn it, it’s beautiful.” “Do you think so?” “More than Molrovan.” “This is entertaining. Please continue.” “Molrovan sounds like a man getting kicked to death with hot broth in his mouth. It’s a wet, spitting language for whore people with whore lips. Galtish is a poet’s language.”
