Dawn was coming. The Waystone Inn lay in silence, and it was a silence of three parts.
You do not know the first note of the music that moves me.
I can't count the men who have tried to seduce me away from my virtue by teaching me how to defend it.
That was another lesson I had learned perhaps too well: people meant pain.
We all become what we pretend to be.
I also felt guilty about the three pens I'd stolen, but only for a second. And since there was no convenient way to give them back, I stole a bottle of ink before I left.