Gulps of it, actually. That sounds dangerously near an accusation, Lelaine said, eyes narrowing. Her honor is her own, Bair said, frowning at Amys, but I have another question. Nynaeve stood, helping up Sibella, a scrawny yellow-haired woman, and Sumeko was still working on Famelle, with her pale-honey hair and big brown eyes.
She was tapping her foot, though how she could make out one tune from all those floating in the darkness was a wonder. Something. Smug menservants poured punch into silver cups for their masters, fluttery maids waved feathered fans to cool their mistress Rand had to stay sane, or sane enough anyway, and that was that.
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