It was a raw night and there was a stiff wind coming up off the sea, bringing a driving rain and a tavern full of sea-captains and merchants with their pockets full.
Margriete liked nights like this. The Blue Cat was full to bursting; there was a cheerful, rowdy, jaunty air to the tavern, and the air was full of the good smells of cooking and spilled ale and wet wool, with a hint of tobacco and spicy geneva. In the corner by the fire, the blond Englishman sat with his arm round his girl, running through his repertoire of bawdy drinking songs.
First Lines Contest 2017: Red Horse: 1642
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