Avenestra put her gaunt-faced head on one side. “You trying to get me drunk?”
“No. You had your limit?”
“You rich?”
He shook his head. “Are you an orphan, Avenestra?”
Her eyes clouded. “How’d you know? Oh, Ahdio told you!”
“No. If I’d known I wouldn’t have asked, believe me.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Because you know you can and because I don’t want a damned thing from you.”
“Huh! That’s a first.”
He said nothing and neither did she. She drank and let him see that her cup was empty. He looked at the empty mug, looked at her, and signed for another. Again she put her head on one side and gave him that dark, dark suspicious look.
“You’re hardly drinkin’ anyth’ but you keep or’erin’ f’me. You sure you not tryina get me drunk?”
“Do you need help?”
Avenestra put her head down and wept for the next ten minutes.
Strick sat silently. He did not touch her. Ahdio’s wife came, but Strick raised a finger to his lips. He gave her money. “Tell Ahdio to tell Cusharlain.” She did not understand, but gave him his difference and went away. Good woman, spell or no, Strick thought, while Avenestra kept weeping. After another five or eight minutes she raised her head, looking horrible and pitiful. She watched him thrust a big hand down into the outsize neck of his tunic and come out with a white cloth. He handed it to her.
“Wha’m I sposed to do wi’ this?”
“Wipe your eyes and face, and blow.”
She sat staring, blinking, oozing kohl from her eyes. Then she wiped her face and eyes, and blew. She looked at the kerchief and shook her head.