Meserimus clapped a large hand on his grandsons shoulder - less a boy now than ever. And then leaned his forarms on the railing looked out over the darkened gardens, leaving his grandson space in which to order his thoughts for speech.

'Ungrateful.' he echoed, but it was less question and more statement. His tone was devoid of any judgement but pregnant with thought. 'Oh and what are these desperately difficult questions?' Meserimus pressed, glancing sideways over the top of his half moon classes. 'Perhaps an old man may have insight.'

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