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The question stumped Mirastir. A person with a good imagination might now imagine that the gears in the big man's head began to make a characteristic creaking sound as he looked away, trying to figure out where his line of oratorical defense had failed. -- No, ma'am, of course, I wouldn't refuse. In fact, that's why I came. Well, it's about supplies, right, ma'am?
— Correct. And what could be worse than a shortage of provisions? A commander, tired of empty arguments, whose subordinates' fate depends on his decisions. Or am I wrong, hmm?