I answered at length.

I answered indignantly.

The more I answered, the more indignant I became.

(No; I was not drunk.

The horse I had ridden was well named "The Outlaw." I'd like to see any drunken man ride her.) And yet--how shall I say ?--I was lighted up, I was feeling "good," I was pleasantly jingled.
"When the women get the ballot, they will vote for prohibition," I said.
"It is the wives, and sisters, and mothers, and they only, who will drive the nails into the coffin of John Barleycorn----" "But I thought you were a friend to John Barleycorn," Charmian interpolated.
"I am.