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Summary
'Does he know you threw me off a cliff?'
'It wouldn't matter,' Brienne mutters.
'No, I think not,' Sandor agrees. 'You’re just a flower. Oh, you don't look it. Gods know you don't; you look like a great, thick, beast...' she smells alcohol on his breath. 'But you know... and I know, you're a delicate bird, Brienne.'
