But already, the horse-radish lady was sitting in front of Hassler's grinding away at her pungent roots.
It felt wrong to be sitting at such a fancy table in his dirty, sweat-stained clothes, but Llywelyn and his uncle were just as dirty, so it must be all right, Mark reasoned.
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Penny rolled her eyes I think all our children have inherited that trait, Bronwen thought but complied.