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He sobbed, his words finished. Grief started to get replaced by shame. With a big sigh, he got control of himself and with only the sleeve of the shirt beneath his robes available to him, he began to wipe his face before he even dare get back to his feet. Shame........it filled him. All of the loss he had been through and all of the war torn bodies had finally taken its toll on him. Turning around, he saw a friendly hand extended to him. He accepted it and got back to his feet, still collecting himself. That's when he realized that before him stood a proud Bretonian with wet eyes. He excused himself.
"I am so sorry for that display," he stated. "Perhaps it was something I needed to clear myself of."
He then found his empty glass and made a motion to fill it but then stopped as he looked at the bottle. "I think it has spoken enough already." He hmphed, "So much for business I guess."