Beneath the edge of the table she felt her belt pouch, felt the bracelet inside. Here? Oddly, for a moment, Sammael seemed taken aback. Everybody else in sight wore wool or linen, seldom with much embroidery, except for an occasional beggar who had acquired a cast-off silk garment, frayed on every edge and more hole than cloth. Such as Mat? Elayne had her mourn open for a retort to Birgitte, but she closed it quickly, the red spots in her cheeks most definitely chagrin this time.
Tight-eyed, the dark woman stared straight ahead, her smile clearly forced now. All my work thrown away to be done over. The man who had abandoned his inn to follow her certainly felt it. Through the windows she could see the brightness of early afternoon, yet before she was halfway across her sitting room, the light suddenly faded into dim evening.
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