As by tonight ye’ll have forgotten slapping me at breakfast. And if I have to stay in sight of Jonas and his men another six months, I’ll be hobbling and needing a boost in the arse to get aboard my horse. And we must go and see Hart, of course. The voice of the Cöos.
And, so far as we have been able to determine, the recovery rate is zero. He didn’t think he was hungover, but his legs were sore and he felt as if he had just taken the world’s heaviest Sunday afternoon nap. Aye, but no fear of that. Unsanitary, you see.
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