"Well, I suppose you're right," Angus said, not really having given thought to Abbey's opinions.
A moment later, Nigel came out with his bag, and Robert was with him.
"Oh, that's pretty, isn't it?" Nigel said sarcastically. "I underestimated what I thought that would look like. By the looks of it, you're lucky to be alive at all."
"He isn't lucky," Robert said. "He's a damned good fighter, one of my first string team. He survived because he used his skills. A lesser man would perhaps have been killed, but Angus Donohue is not a lesser man."
"So who is a first string and who isn't?" Nigel asked, sitting and opening his bag.
"I only allow first string-ers to live in my house," Robert said. "If they've made it to live in my house or Brian's main house, that means we've learned we can trust them with our lives. I do have a lot of other employees, but they aren't all the caliber that actually have quarters under the same roof as my wife and my daughter and granddaughter."
"I see," Nigel said, clipping off the dressing. He took the gauze off, and he and Robert studied the incisions. Angus glanced down at them.
"I look like Frankenstein," he sighed, looking at the way he had one large incision and several smaller ones that went every which direction.
"Who's Frankenstein?" Nigel asked.
"Character in a muggle fiction book, a story about a monster made from random parts of muggle corpses," Robert said. "Supposedly a creature so hideous he terrified anyone who looked at him."
"Well, it isn't that bad," Nigel frowned at Angus. "Besides, just so you know, I didn't any new incisions to speak of. I lengthened one or two so I could do repair work underneath, but what you see is, almost all the work of that enormous canine. It does look nice and clean, though. I don't see any infection, so I'll just clean it up and dress it again, and then, yes, you could have a shirt, I suppose. But you do need that shoulder immobilized or you'll buggar it up."
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