Padi said warmly, eyes flashing with triumph, her soup forgotten on the table before her. Abruptly, her shoulders sagged, and she averted her face. “Only, one is not allowed to keep it, which seems, someway…less satisfying than no profit at all.” “Also,” she said, putting her spoon down with the air of one who has no appetite, “I’ve overspent my spec money. Even if another high-profit deal presents itself, I haven’t enough funds to take proper advantage.” “You did take a bold gamble,” Shan said, leaning back in his chair. He was toying absently with a wineglass, all of his attention on Padi. He had several times during the course of the meal perceived anomalies—a smile yoked to a sudden, frigid tremor of fear; a shrug of resignation linked to a flicker of white anger; and, once more, fear, shadowing a bold look of pride. “I seem to recall,” he added, when she made no answer nor even looked up, “that we had touched upon the wisdom of committing so much of your cash to one deal.”
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