[ It'd be horrible to protest, after Byerly was so quiet and patient all through his speech and didn't once try to correct him. So Bastien doesn't. He only tries to explain: ]

I started too old. She would never have given me a second look if I hadn't looked younger than I was. The clay had started to dry.

[ They're not his words. There was only so much progress she could make with him, she said; he might be good, if he worked hard enough, but he'd never be great. At the time it'd made him hungry. Ravenous. Willing to stretch until he snapped, stitch himself together, and stretch and snap again. But— ]

I'm glad now.

[ He puts his hand over By's to hold it against his skin. ]