"Come here, girl," he said.
Timidly, Si'Wren took a step closer, and Bassdag reached up and took
Si'Wren's slender forearm in his large and knobby old hand.
"This old man," said Habrunt, "who is older than anyone I have ever
met, invented--writing."
Si'Wren stared up at the white-haired old face, and was awestruck.
"Aye," said Bassdag, nodding in the affirmative. "Verily I thought I
had created something with which to enrich men's souls. But since
inventing it, much has happened to cause me to believe otherwise.
Sometimes, I think it was all just a waste of time."
Then Bassdag, in a tired, quavering voice, went on, "Tell me, Habrunt.
Is this one sincere soul all that remains in all the world, to follow
after the one true God now, besides ourselves? Just one soul, and that
but a youth and a mere girl? Hath God in truth sworn to love the whole
world, but settled in the end upon only this one soul, but not the
rest?"
Habrunt shrugged.
"I know not, old one," he said, "but methinks you have spoken the truth
in this."
Bassdag stared owlishly at Habrunt, and seemed shaken by the admission.
The shrieks of many in the crowd suddenly increased wildly for no
reason which Si'Wren could discern, the inherent madness of the
outcries making her uneasy as she sought to ignore them and focus on
Habrunt and his friend.
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