It's a near thing. The That will be all then, is right there on the tip of his tongue, and requires temporary reservation when Marcus actually does prompt him with a question.

Flint makes to gather the small collection of writing instruments from where they've been scattered across the table top. Bundles them together.

"In what sense?"

There's a tin cup with other pencil stubs and a straight edge within arm's reach, but he doesn't yet extend his hand toward it. There are a half dozen legitimate answers to that question; best to know which one Marcus is after.