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Harreld
Harreld's smooth polishing motion stopped. He let out a heavy audible sigh. That was no doubt answer enough for Thornden, but he knew he would have to say the words. He stared at the ladle, the pain inside threatening to burst to his throat. His dried out eyes moistened again. He refused to blink, or turn to face Thornden. At least the useless moisture didn't dribble down his face.
"No," he said in a half choked gruffness, "it did not."
He began polishing again. There was no way he could bring himself to tell Thornden the good news for him. That would have to come Ginna. It would be more appropriate. He would say no more unless asked. The man just stood there, to his side and behind him, as if he had more to say. Well, let him say what he would. Harreld would not aid him. He was too distraught and tired on the inside to help others with their words.
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