He might seem to be trailing clouds of glory, but he's also trailing a couple of centuries of unearned privilege. And if you get to thinking he's different from the rest, remind yourself he's just got engaged to a fluff-head whose father runs some of the most fascist imprints of our mainly fascist press." To Joe this sounded a bit unfair on the Bugle, but political debate with Butcher was a waste of time. "All I know is the guy's got some kind of trouble," he said weakly. "Yes, and that is good news," said Butcher. "But what's really puzzling is why he's looking for help from you of all people." Indignantly he retorted, " 'Cos I was recommended, that's why?" "Recommended?" she said incredulously. "Who by? The Samaritans?" "By Willie Woodbine, no less." Which meant he had to tell her all that part of the story too. To his surprise she nodded as if it all made perfect sense. "Poor Willie," she said. "Must be in a real tizz. And you're his last resort." "What's that mean?" "You don't know anything, do you, Joe?" she said. He knew she was going to be really patronizing when she called him Joe, but he didn't mind. Folk could rarely be patronizing without telling you stuff you didn't know just to show how much more they knew than you did. She said, "Willie Woodbine's dad used to buttle for the Porphyrys-" "Battle?" interrupted Joe. "You mean, like he was a minder or something?" "He was their butler, for God's sake. Willie must be three or four years older than Chris, just the age gap for a bit of hero worship, young master being shown the ropes by the butler's worldly-wise son. Boot on the other foot when they grew up, of course, but there's a relationship there that begins to assume at least the appearance of equality when Willie joins the police force and starts his rapid climb up the ladder. If he gets to be chief constable, he might even get invited round to dinner."

"Miaow," said Joe, who might have observed, had he been given to self-, social-, psycho-, or indeed any kind of analysis, how interesting it was that folk from nice bourgeois backgrounds like Butcher were much more inclined to get hot under the collar about the inequalities of class than natural-born plebs like himself.