Jenny: Apathy With Teeth

Vortimer continued to kicked the wall idly with one heel, turning the apple which he had been eating over in his hands. He recalled this fellow from last night. Not a bad fighter, a bit of the cloak-and-daggers type perhaps, and perhaps he ought to stick to knives rather than girls. He refrained from saying so on the grounds that he could truly not care less what the fellow preferred. It had been a long night. He had seen both Artos and Ambrosius flung down into their beds, caught in the grip of sleep as though dead, and he felt disinclined to like anyone at present, or to be warm and cosy and welcoming to sightseers - particularly those who came with swords and liked pretty girls.

"Maybe," he said disobligingly. He turned the apple over and took a bite out of its rich red side.

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