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“
I
know
the
custom
!
”
he
barked
.
“
Take
these
basins
to
the
front
door
.
While
we
’
re
eating
and
until
we
’
ve
finished
,
each
beggar
who
calls
may
have
a
full
cup
of
water
.
Understood
?
”
Her
leathery
face
displayed
a
twisting
of
emotions
:
dismay
,
anger
.
.
.
.
With
sudden
insight
,
Leto
realized
that
she
must
have
planned
to
sell
the
water
squeezings
from
the
foot
-
trampled
towels
,
wringing
a
few
coppers
from
the
wretches
who
came
to
the
door
.
Perhaps
that
also
was
a
custom
.
His
face
clouded
,
and
he
growled
:
“
I
’
m
posting
a
guard
to
see
that
my
orders
are
carried
out
to
the
letter
.
”
He
whirled
,
strode
back
down
the
passage
to
the
Great
Hall
.
Memories
rolled
in
his
mind
like
the
toothless
mutterings
of
old
women
.
He
remembered
open
water
and
waves
—
days
of
grass
instead
of
sand
—
dazed
summers
that
had
whipped
past
him
like
windstorm
leaves
.
All
gone
.
I
’
m
getting
old
,
he
thought
.
I
’
ve
felt
the
cold
hand
of
my
mortality
.
And
in
what
?
An
old
woman
’
s
greed
.
In
the
Great
Hall
,
the
Lady
Jessica
was
the
center
of
a
mixed
group
standing
in
front
of
the
fireplace
.
An
open
blaze
crackled
there
,
casting
flickers
of
orange
light
onto
jewels
and
laces
and
costly
fabrics
.
He
recognized
in
the
group
a
stillsuit
manufacturer
down
from
Carthag
,
an
electronics
equipment
importer
,
a
watershipper
whose
summer
mansion
was
near
his
polar
-
cap
factory
,
a
representative
of
the
Guild
Bank
(
lean
and
remote
,
that
one
)
,
a
dealer
in
replacement
parts
for
spice
mining
equipment
,
a
thin
and
hard
-
faced
woman
whose
escort
service
for
off
-
planet
visitors
reputedly
operated
as
cover
for
various
smuggling
,
spying
,
and
blackmail
operations
.
Most
of
the
women
in
the
hall
seemed
cast
from
a
specific
type
—
decorative
,
precisely
turned
out
,
an
odd
mingling
of
untouchable
sensuousness
.
Even
without
her
position
as
hostess
,
Jessica
would
have
dominated
the
group
,
he
thought
.
