"But I want him north," Howard says. "Tell him to go. Tell him Norfolk says he must be on the road and out of here. Or--and tell him this--I will come where he is, and I will tear him with my teeth." "My lord." He bows. "May I substitute the word 'bite'?" Norfolk approaches him. He stands far too close. His eyes are bloodshot. Every sinew is jumping. He says, "Substitute nothing, you misbegotten--" the duke stabs a forefinger into his shoulder. "You . . . person," he says; and again,"you nobody from Hell, you whore-spawn, you cluster of evil, you lawyer."