"Concussion," he says. "Multiple fractures, if not instantaneous death, and--"
"Don't be an old maid. Come on up, you can see for miles."
"Laigle de Meaux, if you think I am going to patch you up when you break your neck, much less risk my own for the sake of a damned landscape, you are sorely mistaken."
"Bah. If half the disasters men predicted came to pass, we'd none of us be here by now. Come on, there's a good fellow. The wind in your hair will do you good."
"And how would you know?" Joly retorts, picking his way up the crumbling steps after his friend.
"Oh, we are surly today."
"We are cold today, and we want to get home to a decent fire and a change of clothes, preferably in one piece."