Before he could reply, a bull-shouldered man clattered an empty plate onto the bar and set a fork down gently beside it. “That,” he said in a booming voice, “was a damn fine pie.” A thin woman with a pinched face stood next to him. “Don’t you cuss, Elias,” she said sharply. “There’s no call for that.” “Oh, honey,” the big man said. “Don’t get yourself in a twit. Damfine is a kind of apple, innit?”
