[Sinclair's voice is soft, gentle, the words falling between them with its own power.]

...So many years I had spent as a child sifting his bright features for his thoughts, trying to glimpse among them one that bore my name. But he was a harp with only one string, and the note it played was himself.

[It's a good book. And he's glad that Oria wants to share it with him]</small.