What Moves the Dead (Sworn Soldier, #1)

by T. Kingfisher

I had a strong urge to step back from them, and an even stronger urge to poke them with a stick.

(Look, if you don’t make a fool of yourself over animals, at least in private, you aren’t to be trusted. That was one of my father’s maxims, and it’s never failed me yet.)

(I am never sure what to think of Americans. Their brashness can be charming, but just when I decide that I rather like them, I meet one that I wish would go back to America, and then perhaps keep going off the far edge, into the sea.)

His voice had that light veneer of humor that we all get, because if we don’t pretend we’re laughing, we might have to admit just how broken we are.

It is very unpleasant to sit down to a meal when you are trying to determine which one of your breakfast companions is a murderer.