“She’s my sister.” Gendry put a heavy hand on the old man’s shoulder, and squeezed. “Leave her be.”
The man turned, spoiling for a quarrel, but when he saw Gendry’s size he thought better of it. “Your sister, is she? What kind of brother are you? I’d never bring no sister of mine to the Peach, that I wouldn’t.” He got up from the bench and moved off muttering, in search of a new friend.
“Why did you say that?” Arya hopped to her feet. “You’re not my brother.”
“That’s right,” he said angrily. “I’m too bloody low born to be kin to m’lady high.”
Arya was taken aback by the fury in his voice. “That’s not the way I meant it.”
A Storm of Swords p. 402