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... him. The streets of the eastern quarter were quiet, only the distant shuffle of drunkards and the occasional bark of dogs breaking the silence. He tugged at the loose folds of his shirt, its front hanging open where Seraphine had torn through it. The fabric swayed in the wind, useless against the chill.

"Two days in this town," he muttered, patting it down with a grimace, "and both my shirts are ruined."

He shook his head and kept walking, boots scuffing against the uneven cobble ...

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