It's not mine, Sam said. Clegane shook out his whip,and sent it hissing through the soft rain to bite at a horse's flank. Then he brought me to the city, so I'd be close when he wantedme. I'm a soldier, though, not no tourney knight.
Prendahl and Sallor would tell you so, if dead men could talk. Aye, m'lord. Then he gave him a roughshove, and the wildling fell forward, crashing face first across Ser Byam. A swallow, the fat one called down.
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