Vilya went out. She had to reach the academy before two in the afternoon, or she would very likely miss Professor Phyllis's history class. He never waited for late students. And if you were late, you could only stand outside the classroom and listen from there.
Quite a few students had complained about him before, but the old man had cursed them all right back. The headmaster did not really interfere in his affairs either. After all, he was the only person in the entire school who had studied at Oxenfurt University in his youth.
Vilya walked down the street empty-handed. She had no books to use now. Those people had torn up Vilya's books after class, and had said some truly ugly things to her as well. Vilya did not take it to heart. As a merchant's daughter, she had long since grown used to being bullied at the academy.
Thinking this, she touched the scar on her face. It stretched from her left cheek all the way to her right, and often hurt. But she had already begun to grow used to the scar, just as she was slowly growing used to being humiliated.
The girl did not lower her head. She walked down the street with that scar bared to the world.
Geralt ate the beans halfheartedly. He had already finished the mashed potatoes and the bowl of meat soup. But he had never liked beans. Still, it was money he had spent, so he had to eat them whether he liked them or not. The innkeeper had already returned to the bar and was wiping down his glasses. Geralt rather doubted whether anyone would come here in the evening. Those inns that did booming business on the side as taverns always hired a dozen or