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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 449/751
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You
will
sail
as
soon
as
I
can
find
a
proper
ship
,
with
Septa
Mordane
and
a
complement
of
guards
...
and
yes
,
with
Syrio
Forel
,
if
he
agrees
to
enter
my
service
.
But
say
nothing
of
this
.
It
's
better
if
no
one
knows
of
our
plans
.
We
'll
talk
again
tomorrow
.
"
Sansa
cried
as
Septa
Mordane
marched
them
down
the
steps
.
They
were
going
to
take
it
all
away
;
the
tournaments
and
the
court
and
her
prince
,
everything
,
they
were
going
to
send
her
back
to
the
bleak
grey
walls
of
Winterfell
and
lock
her
up
forever
.
Her
life
was
over
before
it
had
begun
.
"
Stop
that
weeping
,
child
,
"
Septa
Mordane
said
sternly
.
"
I
am
certain
your
lord
father
knows
what
is
best
for
you
.
"
"
It
wo
n't
be
so
bad
,
Sansa
,
"
Arya
said
.
"
We
're
going
to
sail
on
a
galley
.
It
will
be
an
adventure
,
and
then
we
'll
be
with
Bran
and
Robb
again
,
and
Old
Nan
and
Hodor
and
the
rest
.
"
She
touched
her
on
the
arm
.
"
Hodor
!
"
Sansa
yelled
.
"
You
ought
to
marry
Hodor
,
you
're
just
like
him
,
stupid
and
hairy
and
ugly
!
"
She
wrenched
away
from
her
sister
's
hand
,
stormed
into
her
bedchamber
,
and
barred
the
door
behind
her
.
Pain
is
a
gift
from
the
gods
,
Lord
Eddard
,
"
Grand
Maester
Pycelle
told
him
.
"
It
means
the
bone
is
knitting
,
the
flesh
healing
itself
.
Be
thankful
.
"
"
I
will
be
thankful
when
my
leg
stops
throbbing
.
"
Pycelle
set
a
stoppered
flask
on
the
table
by
the
bed
.
"
The
milk
of
the
poppy
,
for
when
the
pain
grows
too
onerous
.
"
"
I
sleep
too
much
already
.
"
"
Sleep
is
the
great
healer
.
"
