I will ask about them when I write. You hear them, boy? a voice asked. Look how wide the path is. The arakh cut was wide but shallow; his left nipple was gone, and a flap of bloody flesh and skin dangled from his chest like a wet rag.
Winter is coming, said the Stark words. Think on that. Underneath their painted leather vests, their withered dugs swayed back and forth, shiny with oil and sweat. Tyrion Lannister swung off the bench and rose.
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