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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 212/751
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When
she
slammed
that
door
and
dropped
the
heavy
crossbar
,
nobody
could
get
into
her
room
,
not
Septa
Mordane
or
Fat
Tom
or
Sansa
or
Jory
or
the
Hound
,
nobody
!
She
slammed
it
now
.
When
the
bar
was
down
,
Arya
finally
felt
safe
enough
to
cry
.
She
went
to
the
window
seat
and
sat
there
,
sniffling
,
hating
them
all
,
and
herself
most
of
all
.
It
was
all
her
fault
,
everything
bad
that
had
happened
.
Sansa
said
so
,
and
Jeyne
too
.
Fat
Tom
was
knocking
on
her
door
.
"
Arya
girl
,
what
's
wrong
?
"
he
called
out
.
"
You
in
there
?
"
"
No
!
"
she
shouted
.
The
knocking
stopped
.
A
moment
later
she
heard
him
going
away
.
Fat
Tom
was
always
easy
to
fool
.
Arya
went
to
the
chest
at
the
foot
of
her
bed
.
She
knelt
,
opened
the
lid
,
and
began
pulling
her
clothes
out
with
both
hands
,
grabbing
handfuls
of
silk
and
satin
and
velvet
and
wool
and
tossing
them
on
the
floor
.
It
was
there
at
the
bottom
of
the
chest
,
where
she
'd
hidden
it
.
Arya
lifted
it
out
almost
tenderly
and
drew
the
slender
blade
from
its
sheath
.
Needle
.
She
thought
of
Mycah
again
and
her
eyes
filled
with
tears
.
Her
fault
,
her
fault
,
her
fault
.
If
she
had
never
asked
him
to
play
at
swords
with
her
...
There
was
a
pounding
at
her
door
,
louder
than
before
.
"
Arya
Stark
,
you
open
this
door
at
once
,
do
you
hear
me
?
"
Arya
spun
around
,
with
Needle
in
her
hand
.
"
You
better
not
come
in
here
!
"
she
warned
.
She
slashed
at
the
air
savagely
.
