Dappa shoved it into the hip pocket of his coat, where it was about as welcome as a turd. But at least it was hidden. "It says something that is not true, about me," he said, "a perfect and abominable lie." And he wished that he could have said it in a low and quiet voice. But passion made him squawk like a strangled hen. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think. "An attack," he said, " ’tis an attack on me by Charles White—a Tory. Why on me? No reason. Thus ’tis not an attack on me but on what I am a part of, namely, Minerva ." He opened his eyes. "Your ship is under attack, Jones."