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Jon

           Theworldwasfullofcravenswhopretendedtobeheroes;ittookaqueersortofcouragetoadmittocowardiceasSamwellTarlyhad.

           Hissoreshouldermadetheworkgoslowly.ItwaslateafternoonbeforeJonfinishedgravelingthepaths.Helingeredonhightowatchthesungodown,turningthewesternskythecolorofblood.Finally,asduskwassettlingoverthenorth,Jonrolledtheemptybarrelsbackintothecageandsignaledthewinchmentolowerhim.

           TheeveningmealwasalmostdonebythetimeheandGhostreachedthecommonhall.Agroupoftheblackbrothersweredicingovermulledwinenearthefire.Hisfriendswereatthebenchnearestthewestwall,laughing.Pypwasinthemiddleofastory.Themummer’sboywiththebigearswasabornliarwithahundreddifferentvoices,andhedidnottellhistalessomuchaslivethem,playingallthepartsasneeded,akingonemomentandaswineherdthenext.Whenheturnedintoanalehousegirloravirginprincess,heusedahighfalsettovoicethatreducedthemalltotearsofhelplesslaughter,andhiseunuchswerealwayseerilyaccuratecaricaturesofSerAlliser.JontookasmuchpleasurefromPyp’santicsasanyone...yetthatnightheturnedawayandwentinsteadtotheendofthebench,whereSamwellTarlysatalone,asfarfromtheothersashecouldget.

           HewasfinishingthelastoftheporkpiethecookshadservedupforsupperwhenJonsatdownacrossfromhim.Thefatboy’seyeswidenedatthesightofGhost."Isthatawolf?"

           "Adirewolf,"Jonsaid."HisnameisGhost.

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