"Why?"
"Because we design to live as free as God made us, and not as king-fashioned slaves."
"Oh, la!" quoth she, opening her eyes wide, "you use very mighty words to me, Mr. Drogue. There are young men in red coats and gilt lace on their hats who would call you rebel."
"I am."
"No," she whispered, putting both arms around my neck. "You are a pretty boy and no Yankee! I do not wish you to be a Boston rebel."
"Are all your lovers King's men?"
"My lovers?"
"Yes."
"Are you one?"
At which I laughed and lifted the saucy wench from my saddle, and stood so in the starlight, her arms still around my neck.