A barbarian is not aware that he is a barbarian. — Jack Vance

Now was the present, now was the time containing that sweet union of carbon, oxygen, hydrogen, spirit, will and imagination named Nancy.

The merchant voiced an inarticulate protest. Glystra glared at him, “Do you think I trust you?”

“Trust?” said the merchant with a puzzled expression. “Trust? What word is that?” And he tested it several times more.