Floating down the river is pleasant in the summer sunshine...in the cold drizzle of a winter afternoon, it is distinctly disagreeable. The boats have covers to prevent them from filling with water, and our new cloaks keep us fairly dry, but even Legolas and I are uncomfortable. The Hobbits, particularly, are quite miserable. We can rarely risk a fire, and their shivers touch my heart.
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Frodo was roused by Sam. He found that he was lying, well wrapped, under tall grey-skinned trees in a quiet corner of the woodlands on the west bank of the Great River, Anduin. He had slept the night away, and the grey of morning was dim among the bare branches. Gimli was busy with a small fire near at hand.
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"It's impossible to have Frodo without Sam, or Sam without Frodo. They're like two halves of one heart..."
"If your hurts grieve you still and the memory of your burden is heavy, then you may pass into the West..."
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