"If memory serves me aptly, good my fool," he says with a dangerously casual air, "you cast some shameful tossets at my feet that night when first we crossed. Dost thou recall?"
You remember being harangued unjustly as a filthy coastal wastrel, and you remember not appreciating it overmuch.
"I've no intent to linger on the past," he says with a dismissive gesture. "Forward-looking, I. Now listen well…"
Onward