Like certain spoiled children she had known. Roland’s first, appalling instinct was to raise the gun he still held. He had about decided to chance the courtyard anyway—it was temporarily deserted, and he might be able to make it across to the main house—when the man he had feared came staggering out of the stables. “I CRY YOUR PARDON, JAKE OF NEW YORK.
He wasn’t a man Lengyll would have wanted around in more peaceful times, but a useful one in times such as these. There was only the murmur, the dark looks, the muted click and clink of reap-charms as people shifted on their feet. although the old woman would be touching her again, and soon. Unless she was faced with a willful teenager of her own one day, that was.
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