He put his arm around me, eyes half-closed from alcohol, and smiled blearily: “You're a bollix.” And then, for emphasis: “You're a right fuckin’ bollix.” I'm not entirely sure, but I'd like to think that this was a friendly greeting; […]

Let the guest awhile be abiding, though he long for his homefare sore, To tarry at least for the morrow, that the gift I may fulfil.

I suppose it is just as if he had said to me, Heads I win, tails you lose. I thought that it was against law; but this man, Lord they call him, quieted me with his reciprocity.

rousing music