He knocked on his chestplate in a kind of bitter salute to her question. It would be a shame to discard it. But that, he knew, was inevitable. "Like a bloody furnace."
He looked back to her and to her dress, which was such a simple thing that in her current state of dishevel, she almost looked common. "What of you?"
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He looked back to her and to her dress, which was such a simple thing that in her current state of dishevel, she almost looked common. "What of you?"