[ In terms of foolish things her pride has gotten into her of late - if ever - this has to rank up there. Sitting across from him on the long slide of a bar - not too busy, a few people passing through. She wondered why he picked this one? Or she had, but that was, quite a few drinks ago, after she firmly said that she would and could keep up with him. She would match him drink for drink since he said this was the utter definition of what made life so good to him, then she would know it. ( Educational she would insist, not pride, that was far more excusable. )

Which was good, six, seven of these ago, sipping the - whatever it was now. Before, it tasted rough but this glass, in the warm hazy that settled through her limb, her lips, her laughter as she tilts her head back - it was all sweet, and if she had even a lick of real experience, she'd know what this was, but as she is ? She's open and content and full with to whatever he's said, scathing no doubt, and shame to her ladylike sensibilities that she enjoys it, that he never seems to find mistake in her for that sharpness in return. ]

No - you see - Vormoncrief is wrong. I could stomach his boorishness if he had any idea about crop rotations at all. Just because his ancestor understood how to till a field doesn't mean he does.