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- Джордж Мартин
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"
I
will
be
,
"
she
promised
,
"
but
.
.
.
please
.
.
.
make
it
as
soon
as
you
can
.
I
’
m
afraid
.
.
.
"
"
So
am
I
,
"
Ser
Dontos
said
,
smiling
wanly
.
"
And
now
you
must
go
,
before
you
are
missed
.
"
"
You
will
not
come
with
me
?
"
"
Better
if
we
are
never
seen
together
.
"
Nodding
,
Sansa
took
a
step
.
.
.
then
spun
back
,
nervous
,
and
softly
laid
a
kiss
on
his
cheek
,
her
eyes
closed
.
"
My
Florian
,
"
she
whispered
.
"
The
gods
heard
my
prayer
.
"
She
flew
along
the
river
walk
,
past
the
small
kitchen
,
and
through
the
pig
yard
,
her
hurried
footsteps
lost
beneath
the
squealing
of
the
hogs
in
their
pens
.
Home
,
she
thought
,
home
,
he
is
going
to
take
me
home
,
he
’
ll
keep
me
safe
,
my
Florian
.
The
songs
about
Florian
and
Jonquil
were
her
very
favorites
.
Florian
was
homely
too
,
though
not
so
old
.
She
was
racing
headlong
down
the
serpentine
steps
when
a
man
lurched
out
of
a
hidden
doorway
.
Sansa
caromed
into
him
and
lost
her
balance
.
Iron
fingers
caught
her
by
the
wrist
before
she
could
fall
,
and
a
deep
voice
rasped
at
her
.
"
It
’
s
a
long
roll
down
the
serpentine
,
little
bird
.
Want
to
kill
us
both
?
"
His
laughter
was
rough
as
a
saw
on
stone
.
"
Maybe
you
do
.
"
The
Hound
.
"
No
,
my
lord
,
pardons
,
I
’
d
never
.
"
Sansa
averted
her
eyes
but
it
was
too
late
,
he
’
d
seen
her
face
.
"
Please
,
you
’
re
hurting
me
.
"
She
tried
to
wriggle
free
.
"
And
what
’
s
Joff
’
s
little
bird
doing
flying
down
the
serpentine
in
the
black
of
night
?
"
When
she
did
not
answer
,
he
shook
her
.
"
Where
were
you
?
"
"
The
g
-
g
-
godswood
,
my
lord
,
"
she
said
,
not
daring
to
lie
.
"
Praying
.
.
.
praying
for
my
father
,
and
.
.
.
for
the
king
,
praying
that
he
’
d
not
be
hurt
.
"
