In just two short minutes, the plate was cleaner than if a dog had licked it.
Probably because he was stuffed, Ryan finally slowed down.
He grabbed the last piece of roasted, charred bread in his hand, using it to wipe up the meat juice left at the bottom of the plate. His mouth was crammed full, and he mumbled indistinctly.
"Sir… mm… you're really a good man."
"Thanks… for the compliment?" Newcastle replied in an unsure tone while pouring him a cup of hot water.
After all, he didn't think of himself as a good man.
"I'm not flattering you, I mean it! Right now you can't buy bread this good anywhere in the city. Those bakers are rotten to the core—they're actually mixing wood shavings into the dough! Holy Saint Sis above, they're all going to Hell!"
Ryan angrily bit into the bread soaked through with meat juice, as if he were trying to bite some mortal enemy to pieces.
