My cloak, Tyrion repeated. My word? The hoofbeats were louder now. Since then Arya had taken to walking around with her cloak draped over her right arm, to conceal the blade at her hip. They were old, those eyes; older than Winterfell itself.
Anger flashed across Father's face. Jory pulled her off her sister, kicking. For the second time Sansa found herself too stunned for words. That was scarcely anything Ned needed to be told; there was something about Varys that made his flesh crawl.
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