“That’s what you ‘think’, is it?” the Tailor asked, still staring at her sewing. “Because what I find interesting is the idea that a former poacher with a mind the size of a pea is under the illusion that what he thinks matters one bit to the world. You’re nothing but a wayward bastard, Brasti Goodbow. You’re a hanger-on to better men, hoping some kind of meaning will rub off on you from one of these other two fools.”
