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- Джордж Мартин
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- Стр. 445/751
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"
It
's
not
the
same
,
"
Sansa
said
.
"
The
Hound
is
Joffrey
's
sworn
shield
.
Your
butcher
's
boy
attacked
the
prince
.
"
"
Liar
,
"
Arya
said
.
Her
hand
clenched
the
blood
orange
so
hard
that
red
juice
oozed
between
her
fingers
.
"
Go
ahead
,
call
me
all
the
names
you
want
,
"
Sansa
said
airily
.
"
You
wo
n't
dare
when
I
'm
married
to
Joffrey
.
You
'll
have
to
bow
to
me
and
call
me
Your
Grace
.
"
She
shrieked
as
Arya
flung
the
orange
across
the
table
.
It
caught
her
in
the
middle
of
the
forehead
with
a
wet
squish
and
plopped
down
into
her
lap
.
"
You
have
juice
on
your
face
,
Your
Grace
,
"
Arya
said
.
It
was
running
down
her
nose
and
stinging
her
eyes
.
Sansa
wiped
it
away
with
a
napkin
.
When
she
saw
what
the
fruit
in
her
lap
had
done
to
her
beautiful
ivory
silk
dress
,
she
shrieked
again
.
"
You
're
horrible
,
"
she
screamed
at
her
sister
.
"
They
should
have
killed
you
instead
of
Lady
!
"
Septa
Mordane
came
lurching
to
her
feet
.
"
Your
lord
father
will
hear
of
this
!
Go
to
your
chambers
,
at
once
.
At
once
!
"
"
Me
too
?
"
Tears
welled
in
Sansa
's
eyes
.
"
That
's
not
fair
.
"
"
The
matter
is
not
subject
to
discussion
.
Go
!
"
Sansa
stalked
away
with
her
head
up
.
She
was
to
be
a
queen
,
and
queens
did
not
cry
.
At
least
not
where
people
could
see
.
When
she
reached
her
bedchamber
,
she
barred
the
door
and
took
off
her
dress
.
The
blood
orange
had
left
a
blotchy
red
stain
on
the
silk
.
"
I
hate
her
!
"
she
screamed
.
She
balled
up
the
dress
and
flung
it
into
the
cold
hearth
,
on
top
of
the
ashes
of
last
night
's
fire
.
When
she
saw
that
the
stain
had
bled
through
onto
her
underskirt
,
she
began
to
sob
despite
herself
.
She
ripped
off
the
rest
of
her
clothes
wildly
,
threw
herself
into
bed
,
and
cried
herself
back
to
sleep
.
