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15

Donatos found himself in the yard, where he talked with a red-haired healer, whose name Tamir, no matter how hard he tried, could not remember. However, the young novice did not give a damn about this and began to frequent, barely abreast of the krefs:

"Master, I'm not a sorcerer!" That cannot be!

The watchman looked at the learner with squeamish pity and turned back to his interlocutor, only throwing a careless over his shoulder:

- Change your clothes.

But the novice did not want to retreat so easily.

- Well, what a charmer of me! he shouted desperately.

“Not a spellweaver, but a bow tie,” the kref corrected indifferently, “remember this firmly.” Spellweavers at fancy fairs show fools like you and sell weed to women to poison the fruit. And the guards are those who block the way for the dead and give rest to those who walk. Once again I hear that you are interfering with our craft with a buffoon business, I will tear out my tongue.

Tamir shuddered, but did not stop stubbornnes
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