“All the more reason why you should steer clear of him. I’ve no faith in the love of twins. Remember Esau and Jacob.”
“A pure relationship of the flesh, by which a man sold that which didn’t belong to him for a dish of red pottage.”
Hereat Plucritus laughed and changed the conversation.
“Have you noticed how silent Virginius has been since the farmer’s death?” he questioned.
“Yes.”
“He is fretting, I believe—suffering from a kind of distemper.”
“Indeed?”
“Yes. I should say he was labouring under an acute attack of the sulks, brought on simply because I’m a good hand at making prayers.”
“Ah!”
“He has not forgiven me yet for those half-dozen sentences I taught Deborah. I expect he would like to have been the instigator of them himself.”