Breaking in gave Valda considerable pleasure. Do I look like my tongue flaps? he muttered. But perhaps it was not so surprising. She had seen war.
They were all there, in the sitting room, and so was Lan, with his Warder's cloak already draped down his back and saddlebags on his shoulders. Had he had a cap, he would have been turning it in. Down one fork was his violent death, down the other, a long life and a death in bed. The lip of the crystal pitcher rattled against the crystal goblet, and almost as much punch went onto the golden tray.
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