He runs his eye along the row of knives in their racks, the cleavers for...

He runs his eye along the row of knives in their racks, the cleavers for splitting bones. He picks one up, looks at its edge, decides it needs sharpening and says, "Do you think I look like a murderer? In your good opinion?"
A silence. After a while, Thurston proffers, "At this moment, master, I would have to say...