Nynaeve doesn't want you to know, Mat, but you need to hear it. The fellow was making a game of it, taking his bloody time. A history buff, he has also written1 dance and theater criticism. She's standing right over there in plain view.
Do you have any notion what I would have done to have this for study? she said quietly. The idiot eyed her askance, as if he was not sure. She was no longer aware that she dreamed—all seemed real—but deep memories remained, and in those depths, instinct shrieked and clawed for escape. She watched him stride toward Mat with an expression of wonder, probably unable to believe he was obeying so meekly, then gave herself a shake and recovered her bristly self again.
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