“Ha. Not yet, anyway.” If he were perfectly honest - a rare state for him - Sampson would freely admit he found it entertaining to rile people up. But that depended on them being easily riled, and people like Ragge, the cheerful, happy-go-lucky, sociable sorts (he would bet any money he’d been a Gryffindor, if he’d been educated at all): those sorts were often impervious to sarcasm entirely, and too easygoing for their own good.
But Sam wouldn’t let that stop him, if only because he had nothing, at present, better to do. And even if Zaid was joking, at least he knew his place. “So how are you going to make the most of that luxury?” He probed, glancing around the room to see whether there was anything the gardener might think of nicking. Or any housemaids worth the effort of flirting. Or anyone with whom he might induce the outdoors labouring lads to pick a fight.
But Sam wouldn’t let that stop him, if only because he had nothing, at present, better to do. And even if Zaid was joking, at least he knew his place. “So how are you going to make the most of that luxury?” He probed, glancing around the room to see whether there was anything the gardener might think of nicking. Or any housemaids worth the effort of flirting. Or anyone with whom he might induce the outdoors labouring lads to pick a fight.