We met once when you were a boy, at Midculter.' He paused. 'You are not like...

We met once when you were a boy, at Midculter.' He paused. 'You are not like your brother.'
'No,' Crawford said. He gave his hand another shake and then loosed it with apparent reluctance. 'Richard will never be whipped at a cart-arse for bawdry. I don't know whether you notice, but he wears nothing but mockado and fustian. The graveyard at Culter is full of pauperized mercers.