“No sell,” said the Cundaloan. His voice was a dusty whisper, and he hugged his shabby mantle closer about him.
“You sell.” She gave him a bright artificial smile. “I give you much money. I give you ten credits.”
“No sell.”
“I give you hundred credits. Sell!”
“This mine. Family have it since old days. No sell.”
“Five hundred credits!” She waved the money before him.
He clutched the vase to his thin chest and looked up with dark liquid eyes in which the easy tears of the old were starting forth. “No sell. Go‘way. No sell oomaui.”
“Come on,” mumbled Thordin. He grabbed Skorrogan’s arm and pulled him away. “Let’s go. Let’s get back to Skontar.”
“So soon?”
“Yes. Yes. You were right, Skorrogan. You were right, and I am going to make public apology, and you are the greatest savior of history. But let’s get home!”