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...

Aphrodite had dragged Somner to an inn down the road, muttering something about him "needing a proper bed if he’s going to survive the morning after."

Not that she had much choice. Somner had passed out on the dance floor after ten pints of whatever barley-scented hell the Irish brewed, slurring half-formed complaints about how "me granddaddy gets action with Heimon while I don’t" before face-planting into a fiddler’s chair.

He did, however, have to share a bed with Appl ...

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