He was a good man who would not hurt a fly.

Yet, when he heard things and opinions which his mother had taught him to hold sacred assailed, he could become as angry as a savage brute.

The little impious blasphemer Eberbach, especially, he would have been more than ready to lash with the best hazel rod which he had ever cut for his dead father.

But honest anger affords a certain degree of enjoyment, so it was anything rather than agreeable to him to be called away.
The feather curler and his table companions wanted Kitzing wine, but it was in the cellar, and a trip there would have detained him too long from his post of listener.

So he turned angrily back into the room, and told the business men that princes, bishops, and counts were satisfied with the table wine of The Blue Pike, which had been already served to them, and the sceptre and crozier were of more importance than their twisted feathers.