Quentin weathered Mister Longbottom's vitriol without comment. Considering that Glaisdale was less than a days walk and in the same county as Whitby he would consider any man worth his weight in salt for the task at hand would know such history. The spit however earned Harry a frown, calling Claire a whore though?

Quentin's continence took a dark turn, like storm clouds rolling through on a sunny day. Even if Harry avoided Clair's punch he would have far larger concerns. Quentin's hand shoots toward the man's collar with the snapping speed of a boxer. Assuming success he would curl his fist in the cloth winding it around before lifting Harry off the floor. Muscles bulging under the strain but he doesn't seem to notice.