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- Джордж Мартин
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Tyrion
opened
her
robe
and
buried
his
face
between
her
breasts
.
She
always
smelled
clean
to
him
,
even
in
this
reeking
sty
of
a
city
.
"
Keep
him
if
you
like
,
but
keep
him
close
.
I
won
’
t
have
him
wandering
the
city
spreading
tales
in
pot
-
shops
.
"
"
He
won
’
t
—
"
she
started
.
Tyrion
covered
her
mouth
with
his
own
.
He
’
d
had
talk
enough
;
he
needed
the
sweet
simplicity
of
the
pleasure
he
found
between
Shae
’
s
thighs
.
Here
,
at
least
,
he
was
welcome
,
wanted
.
Afterward
,
he
eased
his
arm
out
from
under
her
head
,
slipped
on
his
tunic
,
and
went
down
to
the
garden
.
A
half
-
moon
silvered
the
leaves
of
the
fruit
trees
and
shone
on
the
surface
of
the
stone
bathing
pond
.
Tyrion
seated
himself
beside
the
water
.
Somewhere
off
to
his
right
a
cricket
was
chirping
,
a
curiously
homey
sound
.
It
is
peaceful
here
,
he
thought
,
but
for
how
long
?
A
whiff
of
something
rank
made
him
turn
his
head
.
Shae
stood
in
the
door
behind
him
,
dressed
in
the
silvery
robe
he
’
d
given
her
.
I
loved
a
maid
as
white
as
winter
,
with
moonglow
in
her
hair
.
Behind
her
stood
one
of
the
begging
brothers
,
a
portly
man
in
filthy
patched
robes
,
his
bare
feet
crusty
with
dirt
,
a
bowl
hung
about
his
neck
on
a
leather
thong
where
a
septon
would
have
worn
a
crystal
.
The
smell
of
him
would
have
gagged
a
rat
.
"
Lord
Varys
has
come
to
see
you
,
"
Shae
announced
.
The
begging
brother
blinked
at
her
,
astonished
.
Tyrion
laughed
.
"
To
be
sure
.
How
is
it
you
knew
him
when
I
did
not
?
"
She
shrugged
.
"
It
’
s
still
him
.
Only
dressed
different
.
"
"
A
different
look
,
a
different
smell
,
a
different
way
of
walking
,
"
said
Tyrion
.
"
Most
men
would
be
deceived
.
"
