[And if you're Thinking On Death, you may as well have the resident expert about, should you not?]

After ship's rations since I went to sea, I doubt I'd be able to tell if it were prison food. [Bush does that almost-smile-twinkly-eye-thing that Real Men do when they're in the Navy, and wanders over to the buffet after releasing himself of his coat, sword and pistol on a chair. There shouldn't be any Frenchmen in Heaven, right?]

[He looks back, shrugging, while piling some roast pork onto his plate.] Of course I did, it was making the most horrible screeching noise.