“Here, dearie, sip this.” She held out a cup of boiled herbs to the figure that lay on a bed of rushes in the little hut
“So many of our own are injured, why bother with her?”
“Money in it maybe? Look at her fine clothes.”
“If we knew who her people were.” The headman got off his haunches and went out.
“Now, dearie,” the healing woman leaned close and whispered, “just who are you?”
Вы читаете The Bull Slayer
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