And you quiet time

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They ascended the serpentine steps in a deepening silence. Oh, why did I have to mention Ser Robar? Sansa thought. I’ve ruined everything. He is angry with me now She tried to think of something she might say to make amends, but all the words that came to her were lame and weak . Be quiet, or you will only make it worse, she told herself. Lord Mace Tyrell and his entourage had been housed behind the royal sept, in the long slate-roofed keep that had been called the Maidenvault since King Baelor the Blessed had confined his sisters therein, so the sight of them might not tempt him into carnal thoughts. Outside its tall carved doors stood two guards in gilded halfhelms and green cloaks edged in gold satin, the golden rose of Highgarden sewn on their breasts. Both were seven-footers, wide of shoulder and narrow of waist, magnificently muscled. When Sansa got close enough to see their faces, she could not tell one from the other YOOX HK. They had the same strong jaws, the same deep blue eyes, the same thick red mustaches. “Who are they?” she asked Ser Loras, her discomfort forgotten for a moment. “My grandmother’s personal guard,” he told her. “Their mother named them Erryk and Arryk, but Grandmother can’t tell them apart, so she calls them Left and Right.,, Left and Right opened the doors, and Margaery Tyrell herself emerged and swept down the short flight of steps to greet them. “Lady Sansa,” she called, “I’m so pleased you came. Be welcome.” Sansa knelt at the feet of her future queen. “You do me great honor, Your Grace.” “Won’t you call me Margaery? Please, rise. Loras, help the Lady Sansa to her feet. Might I call you Sansa?” “If it please you.” Ser Loras helped her up. Margaery dismissed him with a sisterly kiss, and took Sansa by the hand. “Come, my grandmother awaits, and she is .” A fire was crackling in the hearth, and sweet-swelling rushes had been scattered on the floor. Around the long trestle table a dozen women were seated. Sansa recognized only Lord Tyrell’s tall, dignified wife, Lady Alerie, whose long silvery braid was bound with jeweled rings. Margaery performed the other introductions. There were three Tyrell cousins, Megga and Alla and Elinor, all close to Sansa’s age. Buxom Lady Janna was Lord Tyrell’s sister, and wed to one of the green-apple Fossoways; dainty, bright-eyed Lady Leonette was a Fossoway as well, and wed to Ser Garlan. Septa Nysterica had a homely pox-scarred face but seemed jolly. Pale, elegant Lady Graceford was with child, and Lady Bulwer was a child, no more than eight. And “Merry” was what she was to call boisterous plump Meredyth Crane, but most definitely not Lady Merryweather, a sultry black-eyed Myrish beauty. Last of all, Margaery brought her before the wizened white-haired doll of a woman at the head of the table. “I am honored to present my grandmother the Lady Olenna, widow to the late Luthor Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, whose memory is a comfort to us all dermes vs medilase.   

'A younger son of Salisbury's,' was the reply; 'Robert Cecil,making his maiden speech. If I hadn't been in a hurry Ishould have stopped to listen to him. Unless I am very muchmistaken, he'll make his mark, and we shall hear more ofhim. '
There were others dining there that night whom it isinteresting to recall. The Grotes were there. Mrs. Grote,scarcely less remarkable than her husband; Lord Mahon,another historian (who married a niece of Mr. Ellice's), LordBrougham, and two curious old men both remarkable, if fornothing else, for their great age. One was George Byng,father of the first Lord Strafford, and 'father' of the Houseof Commons; the other Sir Robert Adair, who was Ambassador atConstantinople when Byron was there. Old Mr. Byng looked asaged as he was, and reminded one of Mr. Smallweed doubled upin his porter's chair. Quite different was his compeer. Wewere standing in the recess of the drawing-room window afterdinner when Sir Robert said to me:
'Very shaky, isn't he! Ah! he was my fag at Eton, and I'vegot the best of it still.'
Brougham having been twice in the same Government with Mr.
Ellice, and being devoted to young Mrs. Edward Ellice, hischarming daughter-in-law, was a constant visitor at 18Arlington Street. Mrs. Ellice often told me of hispeculiarities, which must evidently have been known toothers. Walter Bagehot, speaking of him, says :
'Singular stories of eccentricity and excitement, r of these, darken these latteryears.'
What Mrs. Ellice told me was, that she had to keep a sharpwatch on Lord Brougham if he sat near her writing-table whilehe talked to her; for if there was any pretty little knick-knack within his reach he would, if her head were turned,slip it into his pocket. The truth is perhaps better thanthe dark hint, for certainly we all laughed at it as nothingbut eccentricity.
But the man who interested me most (for though when in theNavy I had heard a hundred legends of his exploits, I hadnever seen him before) was Lord Dundonald. Mr. Ellicepresented me to him, and the old hero asked why I had leftthe Navy.
'The finest service in the world; and likely, begad, to havesomething to do before long.'
This was only a year before the Crimean war. With his strongrough features and tousled mane, he looked like a grey lion.
One expected to see him pick his teeth with a pocketboarding-pike .