"No, he would shoot me." Zevran snorts a soft laugh, motioning for her to join him up in his nest of blankets and furs. He is still cold- he is always cold, but this is not so bad when he has a friend, when he has cookies and dogs and dirty literature. "Merrill..."

How is he to thank her for such a thing? "Colombina, you may come as many times as you wish to read to me."