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. Taking it from the barmaid, he sauntered slowly over to
the guest's table.
"Mind if I sit down?" he said, suiting his action to his
words.
"Yes," said the guest sharply.
"Aw, c'mon," the ruffian said, grinning and settling
himself comfortably in the booth across from the guest, who
sat eating the gray gunk in her bowl. "It's a custom in this
part of the country for innfellows to make merry on a night
like this. Join our little party . . ." - The guest ignored him,
steadily eating her food. Caramon shifted slightly in his
seat, but, after a pleading glance at his brother, which was
answered with an abrupt shake of the hooded head, the
warrior continued eating with a sigh.
The ruffian leaned forward, reaching out his hand to
touch the scarf the guest had wound tightly about her face.
"You must be awful hot - " the man began.
He didn't complete his sentence, finding it difficult to
speak through the bowl of hot stew dripping down his face.
"I've lost my appetite," the guest said. Calmly rising to
her feet, she wiped stew from her hands on a greasy napkin
and headed for the stairs. "I'll go to my room now,
innkeeper. What number?"
"Number sixteen. You can bolt lock it from the inside to
keep out the riff-raff," Slegart said, his mug-polishing
slowing
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