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. "And you
didn't come out here to spy on me, anyway, did you?"
"No!" Basalt said quickly, sitting up. "You were right, Un-
cle Flint," the young dwarf said softly. "What you said about
me being mad at my dad and at myself was true. I knew it
when I threw that punch at Moldoon's -" He looked away
sheepishly "- but I guess I didn't much like you being the
one to point it out."
Basalt plucked nervously at his bootlaces. "I didn't like
leaving things the way they were between us." He looked up
now, clearing his throat gruffly. "I've done that once before,
and it will haunt me for the rest of my days." Basalt's voice
broke, and he hung his head. Flint sat quietly while his
nephew composed himself.
"Even Ma doesn't know this," he began again, his eyes
looking far away into the night now, "but Dad and I had a
fight the night he died. She wouldn't be surprised, though -
me and Dad argued almost every night. Always about the
same thing, too. 'Stop drinking and get a decent job,' he'd
say."
Basalt looked squarely at Flint. "The thing that always
stuck in my craw was that, in addition to apprenticing to
him, I had a job
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