The conversation is an ordinary one for the most part, idle talk and most of it done by the stranger - still in that loud, booming voice.

The offer of wine is turned down politely and only spares a glance for the verboseness of the refusal, the rambling cadence of it oddly reminiscent of some sort of grand delegation. Yvaine nearly rolls her eyes at the unnecessary opulence of it.

"So, mine host," the man continues. "How are your beds here at the back of beyond? Have you straw mattresses? Are there fires in the bedrooms? And I note with increasing pleasure that there is a bathtub in front of your fireplace - if there's a fresh tub of steaming water, I shall have a bath later. But I shall pay you no more than a small silver coin for it, mind."