“Well,” she said at last, trying to match the cool flatness of his tone, “I can’t imagine what an Argantian would learn from reading Llyrian fairy tales, anyway. Myrddin’s our national author. You wouldn’t understand his stories unless you grew up hearing your mother read them.” “I told you,” he said slowly, “my mother is Llyrian.” “But you grew up in Argant.” “Obviously.”
Damn, this is getting annoying. She keeps lashing out at him, taking her frustration of the world and her place in it out on this poor dude.
