( Sweet, isn't it? How the illusion of triumph comes and goes and wanes. How he looks at the old boy here before him and grimaces, seeing, not for the first time the faces of every man left behind. )

As little as they could, under the old regime. ( And wasn't that proper, failed merchantry? ) Or as much as they had to give, under the new one.

( His hand reaching for the paper is all withered claws. )

...you're making an old man think of follies. Should be ashamed of yourself. Or at least get me some honeyed cake.

( Buy an old soul a fancier dinner than hospital fare for the trouble of his unravelled memories. Please and thank you. )