Noble tapped his temple with the index finger of his free hand, conspiratorial. "It's like glass wine," he said, "But the neighbors can't tell." (Maybe it was time for him to be less concerned with what the neighbors all thought — after all, as he'd told Daff a few weeks ago, things were bad. Maybe they would understand him drinking in the garden.)

"I can get you a mug," he added, "If you like. I keep them in the workshop. For tea, normally."