Monster Blood Tattoo: Foundling Quotes

“Rossamund was a boy with a girl’s name. All the other children of Madam Opera’s Estimable Marine Society for Foundling Boyd and Girls teased and tormented him almost daily because of his name.”

“Foundling (noun) also wastrel. Stray people, usually children, found without a home or shelter on the streets of cities or even, amazingly, wandering exposed in the wilds. The usual destination for such orphaned children are workhouses, mills or mines, although a fortunate few may find their way to a foundlingery. Such a place can care for a small number of foundlings and wastrels, fitting them for a more productive life and sparing them the agonies of harder labor.”

“Verline told him to rest, that she would be back with a jar of water. She left again, and before she returned Rossamund was asleep.”

“He would lose himself in his favorite books and pamphlets, reading them avidly.”

“Rossamund smiled woozily at the thought. Now he wanted to sleep but his aching face would not let him.”

“No one stops me!”

“Such glimpses of oppressive dark naturally led his thinking to Gosling-- Gosling Cornivinous Arbour of the Cornivinius Arbours-- a powerful family with ties to some of the most ancient bloodlines of Boschenberg and Brandenbrass.”

“The cudgel-master raised his whistle and the two dozen other children standing around the circle fell silent.”

“Side by side, end on end, was crammed a clutter of cots-- there was never enough room in Madam Opera’s.”

“Dazzled, his head ringing with pain, Rossamund thought the instructor was shouting at him, and so he stayed down. Indeed, he found that he much preferred to lie still while the world swam.”

“Rossamund groaned. He felt powerful, serious pains he had never felt before.”

“Some of the littlest children gave a tiny cheered, but quickly went silent as Gosling swung around and glared at them.”

“Befuddled as he was, he still recognized the yellow steam and rank smell. Birchet was a torture masquerading as a cure.”

“The telltale sound of Verline’s rustling skirts arrived well before her. When she saw Rossamünd stricken within the chalk ring, she gave a startled cry.”

“Rossamund had seen had seen them before. In them he knew women kept their rouges, blushes and balms: the tools of beauty ... even a young lad like himself could not help but be amazed by the simple yet profound transformation. He did not think a little rosying of the cheeks and lips and whitening of the nose could be so flattering.”

“At last he could lie down, his head pounding, his cheek pounding—throb, throb—sharp, iron-tasting.”