“May I be frank?” Sherrington asked. Irene sighed. This was always the sign of a fast-approaching insult. - Genevieve Cogman

The room on the other side was elegant and gracious, even in the moonlight that slanted in through the long rectangular windows. It breathed with the scent of old books and wax polish: the dark volumes that filled the shelves promised countless secrets, and Irene itched just to reach out and touch them.

Sometimes the obvious answer is the true answer.

I think the time for blind trust is long over. Now I need answers.