"Do you want me to nab that person, and see that there's punishment?"
The lid rattled back. From the stove leaped up a yellow lick of flame, curling high; momentarily it painted the kitchen with yellow brightness; and, had he been facing it, you might have fancied a reflection in Puckston's eyes.
Then the lean man's shoulders sagged.
"What’s the good?" he asked dully. "Like old Sir George. Years ago. You can't beat 'em."
"I know this country," said H.M. "Ifs asinine, sure. It's full of fatheads. But there's been justice here for nearly a thousand years."
"Old Sir George…"
"Could he take your land from you, when he tried to?"
"No, by God 'e couldn't!"
Rattle went the stove-lid, back into place.
"Arthur," said-his wife, herself near to breaking down, "I don't think I’ll make tea. I think there's some bottles of the '24 port that the gentlemen would like better. I think I know how to find them."