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Alyn entered as he was drying his face. My lord, he said, Lord Baelish is without and begs audience. Escort him to my solar, Ned said, reaching for a fresh tunic, the lightest linen he could find.
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My old man could build the yachts for them, all right, but they never let us sail 'em. Black sheep, Kinsman muttered. Welcome to the club, buddy.
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