[Astarion is darting across the tent before Gale even finishes. He has the box in hand in moments, flips it open only a heartbeat later, and the rings and necklace go tumbling into his hands. He presses them all against Gale's chest, over the orb, as if trying to staunch a bleeding wound.]
Come on, then. Take them. They're yours. You can't do this to me.
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Come on, then. Take them. They're yours. You can't do this to me.