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René Lafont leaned his elbows on the wooden supper table. It was fortunate, he thought, that the inn had but one guest that evening. |
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Not that the woman his employer had brought home with him was unwilling to work, but she was amazingly inept. |
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Thorn seemed not to notice, or at least not to care. At his usual place across from René, the large man listened quietly to their talkative guest, occasionally taking a bite of rabbit stew. |
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René had taken much effort to make Thorn join his guests for meals, a gesture any inn's host should make. Thorn, he preferred his solitude. Why, he had asked, should he ruin the appetites of the persons who paid for meals by sitting with them? |
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Yet René had proven himself right. More guests returned now that Thorn supped with themthough he mostly remained silent. Perhaps it was the curiosity of being with a host whose sad story still resounded in this area, who could tell? René kept conversations going, except when something captured Thorn's interest enough to make him join in. |
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