" My good lady,’ interrupted Clent, ‘are you telling me that he is not the Luck? That you have in some way obfuscated the chronology of his nativity?’
Seconds passed. A beetle flew into Mistress Leap’s hair while she stared at Clent, then it struggled free and flew off again.
‘Did you lie about when he was born?’ translated Mosca. "
― Frances Hardinge , Fly Trap