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‘You got something you want to say, Bloody-Nine?’ came a voice from near the back. ‘I don’t reckon,’ he said. ‘You’re doing alright.’ ‘Was no reason for us to be here.’ A few mumbles of agreement. ‘Not our bloody fight.’ ‘No need for them to have died.’ More mutters. ‘Should be you we’re burying.’ ‘Aye, maybe.’ Logen would have liked to weep at that. But instead he felt himself smiling. The Bloody-Nine’s smile. That grin that skulls have, with nothing inside but death. ‘Maybe. But you don’t get to pick who dies. Not unless you’ve got the bones to put your own hand to it. Have you? Have any of you?’ Silence. ‘Well, then. Good for Harding Grim. Good for the rest o’ the dead, they’ll all be missed.’ Logen spat onto the grass. ‘Shit on the rest of you.’ And he turned and walked back the way he came. Into the darkness.
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