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. And though
the barkeep had been joined around dusk by two matronly
barmaids, he was too busy with the throng of customers to
talk.
It might have been the ale, his fight with Basalt, or the
whole unsettling day combined, but Flint grew suddenly
annoyed with the presence of the derro in Moldoon's. Now
that it was dusk, a pair of the fair, big-eyed dwarves, al-
ready drunk, sat down beside the agitated dwarf and rudely
bellowed at Moldoon for more ale.
"Don't they teach you manners in that cave of a city you
come from?" demanded Flint, all of a sudden swinging
around on his stool to face the two mountain dwarves.
"It's a grander town than you can claim," sneered one,
lurching unsteadily to his feet.
Flint rose from his stool too, his fists clenching. The sec-
ond derro stepped up to his companion, and the hill dwarf
saw him reach for the haft of a thin dagger. Flint's own knife
was in his belt, but he let it be for now. Despite his anger, he
sought no fight to the death with two drunks.
At that moment, luckily, Garth clumped in, carrying a
sack of potatoes, and headed for the door to the kitchen be-
hind the bar
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