剑。那不是法诺恩;那就是屠杀。大总管耸耸肩。大师没有抗议。事实上,他能建议什么武器更适合他呢?火,她说。他不会,总管说。你知道他不会。
(Swords. That is no faenorn ; that is slaughter. The Grand Seneschal shrugged. The Master did not protest. And, indeed, what weapon could he have suggested that would suit him any better? Fire, she said. He would not, said the Seneschal. You know he would not.)