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; […]

rousing music

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.

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.