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. "A fight?" He
smiled happily and reached for his club. "I LOVE fighting."
The first blow caught the slack-jawed farmer in the stomach.
Reger dusted his hands, bowed to one and all, and stood gaping at
Elga until Farmer Mort, rising, caught him on the chin and sent
him backward into the table.
Otik saw their table fall over, but there was no time to do
anything. Brawling was to be suffered, now and then, but
something even more mysterious was afoot. It seemed as if the
entire room was humming with mischief. And those who weren't
busy fighting were . . . well, courting and sparking.
Generally, on his rounds, Otik would tactfully bump any couple
that was getting too affectionate for the comfort of his other
customers. It didn't happen often. Tonight he was moving from
couple to couple almost at a run, and some of them he had to pull
apart. Everyone seemed to be edging into the private corners
created by the irregular trunk of the vallen-wood. What was wrong
with these people?
He recoiled from the last pair with shock. Kugel the Elder,
forced from the arms of his wife, glared up at him and hissed
through the gaps where his teeth had once been. "Leave us alone,
boy."
Otik backed away, appalled. Kugel was the oldest man in
Solace. And to Otik, the fact that Kugel was embracing his own
wife only made it worse. WHAT WAS WRONG WITH
EVERYBODY?
He touched Tika's elbow. "Be freer with the ale
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