It seemed as though he had been falling for years.
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Fly, a voice whispered in the darkness, but Bran did not know how to fly, so all he could do was fall.
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Maester Luwin made a little boy of clay, baked him till he was hard and brittle, dressed him in Bran's clothes, and flung him off a roof. Bran remembered the way he shattered. "But I never fall," he said, falling.
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第十七章: 布兰 Bran
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