He leaned back in his chair, neither slamming the table nor shouting again.
Rowan merely took a deep breath, then slowly, as if admitting, and as if tired, said: "You've changed, Arthur."
"And haven't you as well?" Arthur didn't look at Rowan, he just stared at the smoke rising from his cigar: "I thought you would seek justice for Cali, just like you did for me back then."
"How do you know I haven't?" Rowan pursed his lips, seemingly unwilling to say more. He picked up a matchbox, but there were no matches left, so he irritably crushed the box and tossed it out the window: "Napoleon's artillery should have aimed better back in the day! Had I been blown to pieces at Waterloo, I wouldn't have to deal with this nonsense!"
Arthur chuckled softly at this: "That reminds me of a joke I heard in Paris. The Bonaparte Party there says that Napoleon lost at Waterloo because of bad weather. If the rain had been heavier, neither of us would be here wasting our breath today."
