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Suspicion
Frodo looked. Strider sat cross-legged not far away, sharpening a lethal-looking blade, the firelight flickering on his grim face. “He’s got more metal on him than the blacksmith,” insisted Sam. “Knives and a whole sword and that broken one, too. Does an honest fellow need all that?” “In the Shire, no,” said Frodo. “But here? I think he really is a friend of Gandalf’s.” “Poppycock!” said Sam. “I’ll believe that when I hear it from the old man himself. But don’t worry, Mr. Frodo. I won’t let that Strider get at you.” |
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