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. "I was beginning to get worried."
Gisella suddenly turned her attention to the festival,
and her eyes scoured the stalls, the tents, and the men.
"I've got a lot of deals to make today if I'm going to come
out of this fiasco with a copper to my name, aside from
what the kender is worth to me. I make my best deals in
this outfit." She was half-talking to herself as she uncon-
sciously smoothed the tight fabric over her rounded
hips.
Suddenly she remembered the kender and grabbed
him by the collar. Her small, dark eyes burned into his.
"This is work, and I need to concentrate. I don't want to
be distracted by fretting about you. So stay close -- but
not too close. Better yet, stay close to Woodrow. Keep
your eyes open and learn something."
Adjusting her hat to a jaunty angle, she strode up to
the first booth next to the carousel, that of a fabric mer-
chant. Tasslehoff and Woodrow both noticed that she
put a lot more wiggle in her walk than before. She
paused for a few moments among the tables filled with
bolts of brightly colored fabric, running expert fingers
over each one.
"Good morning, handsome," the red-haired dwarf
purred to the buck-toothed, hunch-backed dwarf seated
inside the booth. She judged his age to be well in excess
of three hundred years. His crossed arms were so hairy
that Gisella couldn't tell where they ended and his beard
began. "May I speak with your father, the proprietor?"
The old dwarf's eyes roamed across Gisella's tightly
clothed form. "I am the proprietor," he announced, his
lips rolling back over his teeth in a grotesque smile
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