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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 558/751
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He
seemed
taller
than
when
she
'd
left
,
and
the
wisps
of
beard
did
make
him
look
older
.
"
Edmure
was
sixteen
when
he
grew
his
first
whiskers
.
"
"
I
will
be
sixteen
soon
enough
,
"
Robb
said
.
"
And
you
are
fifteen
now
.
Fifteen
,
and
leading
a
host
to
battle
.
Can
you
understand
why
I
might
fear
,
Robb
?
"
His
look
grew
stubborn
.
"
There
was
no
one
else
.
"
"
No
one
?
"
she
said
.
"
Pray
,
who
were
those
men
I
saw
here
a
moment
ago
?
Roose
Bolton
,
Rickard
Karstark
,
Galbart
and
Robett
Glover
,
the
Greatjon
,
Helman
Tallhart
...
you
might
have
given
the
command
to
any
of
them
.
Gods
be
good
,
you
might
even
have
sent
Theon
,
though
he
would
not
be
my
choice
.
"
"
They
are
not
Starks
,
"
he
said
.
"
They
are
men
,
Robb
,
seasoned
in
battle
.
You
were
fighting
with
wooden
swords
less
than
a
year
past
.
"
She
saw
anger
in
his
eyes
at
that
,
but
it
was
gone
as
quick
as
it
came
,
and
suddenly
he
was
a
boy
again
.
"
I
know
,
"
he
said
,
abashed
.
"
Are
you
...
are
you
sending
me
back
to
Winterfell
?
"
Catelyn
sighed
.
"
I
should
.
You
ought
never
have
left
.
Yet
I
dare
not
,
not
now
.
You
have
come
too
far
.
Someday
these
lords
will
look
to
you
as
their
liege
.
If
I
pack
you
off
now
,
like
a
child
being
sent
to
bed
without
his
supper
,
they
will
remember
,
and
laugh
about
it
in
their
cups
.
The
day
will
come
when
you
need
them
to
respect
you
,
even
fear
you
a
little
.
Laughter
is
poison
to
fear
.
I
will
not
do
that
to
you
,
much
as
I
might
wish
to
keep
you
safe
.
"
"
You
have
my
thanks
,
Mother
,
"
he
said
,
his
relief
obvious
beneath
the
formality
.
