The way Noble smiled made Ford want to hit him. He tensed his arms against the back of the armchair and didn't move. The allegation was true, and undeniable, and Ford had no particular desire to deny it. He had clearly made the right decision, and he could have pointed that out. How was Noble supposed to be of any help at all if he was like this? Fucking liability. Ford had called him that before, once, but it hadn't been as true then. He still remembered the way that Noble had reacted that time — you're not my fucking father.

But they were talking about his shit now, weren't they? Ford's shit, not whatever had gotten Noble day-drinking. So here was something, said with venom but with an icy steadiness: "You read my letters and you stopped respecting me."

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