Jeffreys scanned the speaker's weather-stained face.
"It's not Paignton Rob, surely?"
"It's all that's left of him, Timothy."
"Thou art shrunken."
"And lopped, brother, lopped."
"Spain?"
"Inquisition."
"Indies?"
"Vera Cruz. Shall I introduce my friends? We are nigh broken, and not too proud to accept a little charity from a Devon man. Thy heart used not to beat in a niggard's bosom."
"It has not changed lodgings, Rob. Wilt know my friend here? This is Master Morgan of Gloucestershire—a good west countrie man, to say the least. He has had his cut at King Philip, and is a friend of our gallant Raleigh."