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The White Dragon
by Anne McCaffrey
p.40 "Do you realize," he asked, twirling the glass in his hand, "that there wasn't a drop of wine on board?"
"Oh, no!" Lessa cried in a comic dismay. F'lar's laughter joined hers. "What a deprivation!"
p.68 "Got another explanation?" Menolly asked belligerently.
"No, but that doesn't mean there isn't one," and Jaxom grinned at her.
p.78-79 Everyone was right willing to discuss his Lady Mother Gemma with him, but did they ever fumble and fight to find another subject if mentioned his unlamented father. Were they afraid to have him get ideas from his father's aggressive ways? Or was it merely courtesy not to talk about the dead unkindly? They certainly had no bar about discussing the living in destructive terms.
p.175 The subject of fire-lizard memory was discussed again; F'lar unwilling to concede that, unlike the dragons they otherwise resembled, the little creatures were capable of recall. Their tales might all be imaginary, the results of sun-dreams and insubstantial. To that Robinton replied that imagination relied on memory--without one, the other was impossible.
p.193 If anyone had told Jaxom that morning that he'd enjoy a comfortable dinner with the Benden Weyrleaders, he'd have told them to open their glow baskets.
p.261-262 "D'you think there'll be a queen egg this time?" Warbret asked eagerly.
"I would never make the error of counting eggs this soon, my Lord Warbret," the Harper said, trying to keep his countenance bland.
"Oh, yes, of course. I mean it would be quite an an accomplishment for Barnath, wouldn't it? Having his queen lay a golden egg this flight?"
"It would indeed. That is, if...Barnath succeeds in flying her."
"Really, Master Harper, of course he will. Where's your sense of justice?"
"Where it generally is, but I doubt Caylith is attuned to justice right now."
p.267 Something seemed to snap inside him. Ah, the pain in his chest. It was easing, as if the snap had been the loosening of the tight band that constricted his heart.
He sighed at the relief. One didn't fully appreciate the absence of pain, he thought.
p.333 "Master Robinton?" Menolly took a cup from the crowded cabinet, a beautiful glass goblet, its base stained harper blue, its cup incised with the Master's name and a harp. "Have you seen this?" She held it up to him, her eyes round with approval.
"My word, harper blue!" Robinton took and examined the beautiful thing.
"From my crafthall," Fandarel said, beaming. "Mermal thought to tint the entire glass blue but I argued that you would prefer to see the red of Benden wine in a clear cup."
Robinton's eyes gleamed with appreciation and gratitude as he examined the cup carefully. Then his long face fell into a sorrowful expression.
"But it's empty," he said in a plaintive, mournful tone.
At that moment a commotion started in the kitchen corner of the Hold. The curtain was flung roughly aside as Piemur, all but losing his balance in an effort not to careen into Brekke, lurched into the room.
"Master?" he gasped.
"Ah, yes, Piemur," the Harper drawled, eyeing his young journeyman as if he had momentarily forgotten why he had summoned the young man. The two regarded each other steadily, a puzzled frown on the Harper's face, while Piemur's chest heaved as he panted, blinking sweat from his eyes. "Piemur, you've been here long enough to know where they store the wine? I've been given this lovely goblet and it's empty!"
p.414 "as empty as grudging forgiveness"