"Wait a minute, Jacques. You don't own them. That was never the way. So if some of these lads decide to sail with me, that's their own affair."
"My friend, why do you think I am the commandant de place if I do not command? Have you seen those culverin just below us, trained on the bay? No frigate enters Basse Terre—or leaves it-- against my will. Even yours, mon ami. Don't lose sight of that."
"I thought you were getting smarter than you used to be, Jacques."
"Don't try and challenge me again, Anglais." Jacques's hand had edged slowly toward the pistol in his belt, but then he glanced at Atiba and hesitated. "Though it's not my habit to kill a man while he's drinking my brandy." He smiled suddenly, breaking the tension, and leaned back. "It might injure my reputation for hospitality."
"When I'm in the fortress overlooking Jamaica Bay one day soon, I'll try and remember to drink your health."
"You really think you can do it, don't you?" He sobered and studied Winston.
"It's too easy not to. But I told you we could take it as partners, together."
"Anglais, I'm not a fool. You don't have the men to manage it alone. So you're hoping I'll give you some of mine."
"I don't want you to 'give' me anything, you old whoremaster. I said we would take it together.
"Forget it. I have better things to do." He smiled. "But all the same, it's always good to see an old friend again. Stay a while. Anglais. What if tomorrow night we feasted like the old days, boucanier style? Why not show your femme how we used to live?"