Zanurzyłam się po uszy w steampunkowym świecie Gail Carriger, i nie wiem, kiedy wyjdę. Polecam Państwu gorąco: żywy humor, przepiękny język, oraz wampiry, które nie świecą. I wilkołaki. Ach, wilkołaki... :)

Tymczasem: fragment z aktualnie pożeranej przeze mnie trzeciej części cyklu znanego jako Parasol Protectorate - Blameless:




(...)Professor Lyall sighed heavily. “He has been intoxicated these last three days.”

“Good gracious me! I wasn’t even aware of the fact that werewolves could become intoxicated.” The Frenchwoman’s scientific interest was piqued.

“It takes some considerable effort and real allocation of resources.”

“What was he drinking?”

“Formaldehyde, as it turns out. Just this morning I deduced his source. It is most wearisome. He worked his way through all of my reserves and then demolished half my specimen collection before I realized what he was up to. I keep a laboratory, you see, on Woolsey Castle grounds in a converted gamekeeper’s hut.”

“Are you saying that you actually are a legitimate professor?” Madame Lefoux tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in newfound respect.

“Not as such. Amateur ruminantologist, to be precise.”

“Oh.”

Professor Lyall looked modestly proud. “I am considered a bit of an expert on the procreative practices of Ovis orientalis aries.”

“Sheep?”

“Sheep.”

“Sheep!” Madame Lefoux’s voice came over suddenly high, as though she were suppressing an inclination to giggle.

“Yes, as in baaaa.” Professor Lyall frowned. Sheep were a serious business, and he failed to see the source of Madame Lefoux’s amusement.

“Let me understand this correctly. You are a werewolf with a keen interest in sheep breeding?...”

Gail Carriger, Blameless