"You want eat?" Mord asked, glowering. He had a plate of boiled beans in one thick, stub-fingered hand.
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Tyrion Lannister was starved, but he refused to let this brute see him cringe. "A leg of lamb would be pleasant," he said, from the heap of soiled straw in the corner of his cell. "Perhaps a dish of peas and onions, some fresh baked bread with butter, and a flagon of mulled wine to wash it down. Or beer, if that's easier. I try not to be overly particular."
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"Is beans," Mord said. "Here." He held out the plate.
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第三十八章: 提利昂 Tyrion
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