Jail's just another Alehouse

Ah, I see..." Jorah raised a furtive eyebrow and lowered his voice.

Home? Perhaps - I have forgotten myself, he managed, an Antivan oxymoron profoundly real, he realized. Flustered by this weakness, he continued to ramble. Is that what you call these? 'Thin bits'? Jorah said, pointing steadily at the place the young man kept them on person.