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- Джордж Мартин
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- Игра престолов
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- Стр. 692/751
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Sansa
's
ear
felt
numb
.
She
touched
it
,
and
her
fingertips
came
away
wet
and
red
.
"
I.
.
.
as
...
as
you
command
,
my
lord
.
"
"
Your
Grace
,
"
Joffrey
corrected
her
.
"
I
shall
look
for
you
in
court
.
"
He
turned
and
left
.
Ser
Meryn
and
Ser
Arys
followed
him
out
,
but
Sandor
Clegane
lingered
long
enough
to
yank
her
roughly
to
her
feet
.
"
Save
yourself
some
pain
,
girl
,
and
give
him
what
he
wants
.
"
"
What
...
what
does
he
want
?
Please
,
tell
me
.
"
"
He
wants
you
to
smile
and
smell
sweet
and
be
his
lady
love
,
"
the
Hound
rasped
.
"
He
wants
to
hear
you
recite
all
your
pretty
little
words
the
way
the
septa
taught
you
.
He
wants
you
to
love
him
...
and
fear
him
.
"
After
he
was
gone
,
Sansa
sank
back
onto
the
rushes
,
staring
at
the
wall
until
two
of
her
bedmaids
crept
timidly
into
the
chamber
.
"
I
will
need
hot
water
for
my
bath
,
please
,
"
she
told
them
,
"
and
perfume
,
and
some
powder
to
hide
this
bruise
.
"
The
right
side
of
her
face
was
swollen
and
beginning
to
ache
,
but
she
knew
Joffrey
would
want
her
to
be
beautiful
.
The
hot
water
made
her
think
of
Winterfell
,
and
she
took
strength
from
that
.
She
had
not
washed
since
the
day
her
father
died
,
and
she
was
startled
at
how
filthy
the
water
became
.
Her
maids
sluiced
the
blood
off
her
face
,
scrubbed
the
dirt
from
her
back
,
washed
her
hair
and
brushed
it
out
until
it
sprang
back
in
thick
auburn
curls
.
Sansa
did
not
speak
to
them
,
except
to
give
them
commands
;
they
were
Lannister
servants
,
not
her
own
,
and
she
did
not
trust
them
.
When
the
time
came
to
dress
,
she
chose
the
green
silk
gown
that
she
had
worn
to
the
tourney
.
She
recalled
how
gallant
Joff
had
been
to
her
that
night
at
the
feast
.
Perhaps
it
would
make
him
remember
as
well
,
and
treat
her
more
gently
.
She
drank
a
glass
of
buttermilk
and
nibbled
at
some
sweet
biscuits
as
she
waited
,
to
settle
her
stomach
.
It
was
midday
when
Ser
Meryn
returned
.
He
had
donned
his
white
armor
;
a
shirt
of
enameled
scales
chased
with
gold
,
a
tall
helm
with
a
golden
sunburst
crest
,
greaves
and
gorget
and
gauntlet
and
boots
of
gleaming
plate
,
a
heavy
wool
cloak
clasped
with
a
golden
lion
.
His
visor
had
been
removed
from
his
helm
,
to
better
show
his
dour
face
;
pouchy
bags
under
his
eyes
,
a
wide
sour
mouth
,
rusty
hair
spotted
with
grey
.
"
My
lady
,
"
he
said
,
bowing
,
as
if
he
had
not
beaten
her
bloody
only
three
hours
past
.
"
His
Grace
has
instructed
me
to
escort
you
to
the
throne
room
.
"
