So when the well blew, the methane did not bubble up gently.

[…] Or shepherd-boy, they featly foot the green

The old analogy likening the human mind to an imperfect mirror, which modifies the images it reflects, occurred more than once to Odo.

“It's okay for me to be here, isn't it?” he asked, as though there could be no reason why he should be asked to leave. He went on eating, and I couldn't help, in the midst of the discomfort I knew I should be feeling—and did feel, though only a little—a faint amusement at his entitledness. It had never been a problem for him at Winerip, not from the beginning: the parties and the Boston caterers and the good poured champagne.