She thought of how tired she was, how exhausted, how hungry. That was the inconvenience of it; her head was swimming. Kneebone's cheeks glowed with rage, and he set down the wine untasted, while Blueskin resumed his song. ‘First I must see Jacques, and—’ ‘No need for that,’ intervened Roding, grasping her arm and trying to drag her to the door.
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