He was in a black mood, and not just because a few street urchins wanted topelt him with dung. The northern girl. Catelyn was glad of that,and even more glad of the swordbelts hanging on pegs along the walls. He choked on his pigeon pie.
The slim boat drifted out from under the red stone arch of the Water Gate,picking up speed as it was caught in the headlong rush of the Tumblestone andpushed out into the tumult where the waters met. Hewanted to reach her, to break through the armor of her courtesy. The Magnar at least was a foe that he could hate. Or was she justsome strumpet? Bastard Walder's mother, yes, now I recall.
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