Taggart took snuff. “Well,” said he, “why don’t you write something grand?”
“I have,” said I.
“What?” said Taggart.
“Why,” said I, “there are those ballads.”
Taggart took snuff.
“And those wonderful versions from Ab Gwilym.”
Taggart took snuff again.
“You seem to be very fond of snuff,” said I; looking at him angrily.
Taggart tapped his box.
“Have you taken it long?”