"Well, if he goes off another time, you can magic him over a precipice."
"Hush!" Edward Webb hissed nervously. No one heeded him.
"If you want that done, you can use your own hands to it. Then you'll be hanged. But that'll not happen. I can't see that. Did they never tell you about the black dog?"
"Which one?"
"The one on your shoulder, my lad."
"Daft talk," he muttered.
"You get what you give, you see."
Edward Webb's face was illumined. "That's the world's rule," he said.
She eyed him sharply. "Not the world's."
He made his courteous inclination of acknowledgment. "Not the world's," he agreed.