Dirk's hand shoots out to catch Hythlodaeus by the wrist--the cold, mist-wet leather of his fingerless gloves is a contrast to the cold, tight grip of his fingers. He hands over neither shoes nor garment.
"What do I have to do," he starts, still flat, his drawl still clipped off at the ends for enunciation. "To make you listen to me."
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Dirk's hand shoots out to catch Hythlodaeus by the wrist--the cold, mist-wet leather of his fingerless gloves is a contrast to the cold, tight grip of his fingers. He hands over neither shoes nor garment.
"What do I have to do," he starts, still flat, his drawl still clipped off at the ends for enunciation. "To make you listen to me."