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- Джордж Мартин
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The
boy
flinched
.
"
I
n
-
never
meant
to
k
-
k
-
k
-
k
—
"
"
Dead
?
You
’
re
,
certain
?
Dead
?
"
He
shuffled
his
feet
,
sheepish
.
"
Drowned
.
"
"
Good
.
Say
nothing
.
Of
him
.
Of
me
.
Any
of
it
.
Nothing
.
"
By
the
time
his
squire
left
,
the
last
of
Tyrion
’
s
strength
was
gone
as
well
.
He
lay
back
and
closed
his
eyes
.
Perhaps
he
would
dream
of
Tysha
again
I
wonder
how
she
’
d
like
my
face
now
,
he
thought
bitterly
.
When
Qhorin
Halfhand
told
him
to
find
some
brush
for
a
fire
,
Jon
knew
their
end
was
near
.
It
will
be
good
to
feel
warm
again
,
if
only
for
a
little
while
,
he
told
himself
while
he
hacked
bare
branches
from
the
trunk
of
a
dead
tree
.
Ghost
sat
on
his
haunches
watching
,
silent
as
ever
.
Will
he
howl
for
me
when
I
’
m
dead
,
as
Bran
’
s
wolf
howled
when
he
fell
?
Jon
wondered
.
Will
Shaggydog
howl
,
far
off
in
Winterfell
,
and
Grey
Wind
and
Nymeria
,
wherever
they
might
be
?
The
moon
was
rising
behind
one
mountain
and
the
sun
sinking
behind
another
as
Jon
struck
sparks
from
flint
and
dagger
,
until
finally
a
wisp
of
smoke
appeared
.
Qhorin
came
and
stood
over
him
as
the
first
flame
rose
up
flickering
from
the
shavings
of
bark
and
dead
dry
pine
needles
.
"
As
shy
as
a
maid
on
her
wedding
night
,
"
the
big
ranger
said
in
a
soft
voice
,
"
and
near
as
fair
.
Sometimes
a
man
forgets
how
pretty
a
fire
can
be
.
"
He
was
not
a
man
you
’
d
expect
to
speak
of
maids
and
wedding
nights
.
So
far
as
Jon
knew
,
Qhorin
had
spent
his
whole
life
in
the
Watch
.
Did
he
ever
love
a
maid
or
have
a
wedding
?
He
could
not
ask
.
Instead
he
fanned
the
fire
.
When
the
blaze
was
all
a
-
crackle
,
he
peeled
off
his
stiff
gloves
to
warm
his
hands
,
and
sighed
,
wondering
if
ever
a
kiss
had
felt
as
good
.
The
warmth
spread
through
his
fingers
like
melting
butter
.