"I've considered it," Byerly says; his voice is light at first, casual, distracted as he studies a sheaf of papers, but every word becomes heavier by degrees as he starts to take in just what Bastien is carrying and just what he is doing. "It's quite annoying, trying to do a deal with someone who's already annoyed with you for having been forced to exert himself."

And then, fully absorbed by the thing on his desk: "Bastien, dear friend, there seems to be something wrong with the expensive Cumberlandish whiskey you've brought me. It seems to be making noise."