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.
"Not for sale."
"Oh. Yes, well-" Reger fumbled for real money. "If you
change your mind, I'll be back. There." He counted the change,
then added a copper. "And give breakfast to my friend there. He
may not feel too well." He gestured at Farmer Mort, who had a
huge lump behind his right ear.
"I see that. Good day, sir." Otik watched with approval as
Reger took the stairs lightly and quickly. On instinct, as when a
kender left, he checked the spoons. Some were missing.
Patrig woke healthy and whole, as the young will, and left
singing-badly. He asked after Loriel on his way out. Kugel the
Elder and his wife tiptoed out bickering, hand in hand. They
turned in the door and frowned disapprovingly at the other
couples.
The couple that had fought, or whatever, under the tables, left
separately. A man whom Otik had barely noticed the night before
paid for a room-"so that my friend can sleep if she wishes."
When Otik asked when his friend wished to wake up, he blushed
and said, "Oh, don't wake her. Not for half a day. Longer, in fact."
Otik noticed, as innkeepers will, the circular groove on the man's
third finger, where he usually wore a ring.
The rest were sitting up, looking around embar-rassedly, testing
their heads and tongues. Otik stepped to the center of the common
room and said diffidently, "If the company believes it is ready for
breakfast-" he looked through the stained glass to the long-risen
sun-"or early lunch-" He nodded at the murmur of assent and
put the skillet of eggs back on the fire
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