Garry, old dear, I had to thrash him for the good of his soul and my Irish temper--he was so offensively independent and unjust.
"It was a pretty job of thrashing but it did him good.

He threw himself on the ground and sobbed like the kid he is.

While he was pulling himself together, I built up the fire and made him some coffee.
"The blaze of the fire worried him--he was afraid his sister would see it and come back.

But he drank the coffee and when I had damped the fire to ease his mind, I explained to him just why I'd felt the need of thrashing him.

For one thing I hadn't cared for the way he spoke to his sister.