a corner to his right and on the left a diminutive palace—smaller than the merchant's house, at least—with a single green-banded dome and no spire. Chuonde of the Spine Ridge Miagoma. Burn you, Lan Mandragoran! Burn you! Burn you! Burn you to the Pit of Doom! Burn you! The man—the bloody man!—did not say one word. You will tell me what you did, she said, regal tone at strong odds with the way her quick fingers straightened the old man's collar and smoothed his lapels.
Dashiva had the gall to glower at him before sullenly pressing a fist to his chest in the salute the Asha'man used. Perhaps they had been caught out—In what? Egwene wondered—but apparently they intended to put the best face they could on matters. It might take years, too. She could recall when he got it as if it were yesterday.
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