". . . . [P]ersons who love very much, easily take offense at trifles. No doubt your excessive affection for me makes you a little diffident about mine. But there is no harm done; I hope you will soon be over this slight jealousy and be convinced that nothing can change the genuine affection Our Lord has given me for you"

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No one accuses the Gunner of maudlin affection for anything except his beasts and his weapons. He hasn't the time. He serves at least three jealous gods—his horse and all its saddlery and harness; his gun, whose least detail of efficiency is more important than men's lives; and, when these have been attended to, the never-ending mystery of his art commands him.

— Rudyard Kipling