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. Bertina
coughed, embarrassed. And Flint felt himself shrinking un-
der that gaze. Though he did not know how he could have
done otherwise, Flint realized that he had let the boy down
by being elsewhere when Aylmar had died. Though he
knew he should, he could not bring himself to rebuke the
rudeness of his brother's son.
"It's good to see you, Basalt," Flint said at last. "I'm sorry
about your father."
"Me, too!" the young dwarf snapped, grabbing someone's
half-finished mug of ale from the table and tossing the con-
tents down his throat. It was not his first of the night, Flint
realized. "Nice of you to make it back, Uncle, although your
brother's been cold in the ground for nearly a month!"
"Basalt!" Bertina gasped, finally finding her voice.
"Let the boy - let Basalt speak his mind," Flint corrected
himself, giving his nephew a pained look. Normally a
young dwarf who spoke that way to an older relative would
suffer a severe reprimand, if not a punch in the nose or a
brief banishment. But somehow, Flint could only feel sorry
for Basalt. And angry at himself for his long neglect of his
family
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