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. "Do what you must, but you
said yourself that the description could fit practically any
dwarf in Hillhome. Why don't you just pretend you've
never seen those particular boots before?"
Tybalt looked like he was being pulled in two pieces. "I
can't do that! I know those boots are yours, and I'm sworn
to uphold the law, no matter who breaks it!"
"Who says the killer wore those boots?" Flint suggested.
"Perhaps they were thrown into the wagon yard by some
cruel young harrns playing a trick on an old dwarf sleeping
off an excess of spirits."
"Is that what happened?" Tybalt asked eagerly, sitting up
straight.
"Do you really want to know, Tybalt?"
Tybalt's eyes closed, and he shook his head quickly. He
combed the fingers of both hands through his thinning dark
hair. "I shouldn't even think of doing this," he began through
gritted teeth, "but if you leave town, at least until this blows
over, I'll forget about the boots." He frowned into Flint's
face. "You don't seem to care about your own fate, but
please consider that the rest of us chose to live in Hillhome,
even if you don't think our lives are very interesting or
worthwhile!"
"Stop it!" snapped Bertina to Tybalt, as the muscles in
Flint's jaw tightened
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