“Ye are a scoundrel, a black-hearted robber and a rogue,' Stubble said cheerily to the grumbling captain. It was his usual way of haggling, and he'd beaten down the riverman to a decent price for conveying himself and Anvar to Lankarn.”
“Black Jack. A common name for rogues and scoundrels in the eighteenth century. A staple of romantic fiction, the name conjured up charming highwaymen, dashing blades in plumed hats. The reality waled at my side.”
“By Duraden, I have trolls dancing in my head this morning!' Stubble grumbled, screwing his eyes into a squint at the bright morning light.”
“Truth, beaten down, may well rise again. But there's a reason it gets beaten down. Usually we don't like it very much.”
“Braggarts and rogues, dogs and scoundrels, drive them out, Harry Potter, see them off!”
“So that makes us robbers of robbers," said Bug, "who pretend to be robbers working for a robber of other robbers.”