（ he leans forward a little, shoulder at a jagged angle as he rests his palm on the head of his cane, elbow jutted out. ）

Shall I coddle you, then? Spin you pleasant stories? Call you Sankta Alina with reverence, prostrate myself before you? It is what you've become accustomed to, I suppose. You'll forgive me if I don't grovel. （ he knocks his cane against his boot, showing more teeth than strictly necessary. ） Bad leg.