Mm. When did-- [Shit. How long has he been asleep? --How long has she been there? Galahad sits up, smearing one calloused palm across the span of his face, inhaling sharply enough to be audible in the dim, dreary surroundings. Barely recognizing them aside from the angles of her features, the scent of perfumed hair so vastly different from anything kept in his own house.] Forgive me, I meant to be a better host than this.
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