That's not right," Willie was saying, turning to look up at him. "You cast with the left hand. I saw you." "Aye, but I'm cack-handed, my lord. Most men would cast with the right." "Cack-handed?" Willie's mouth curved up again. "I find my left hand more convenient to most purposes than is the right, my lord." "That's what I thought it meant. I'm the same." Willie looked at once rather pleased and mildly shamefaced at this statement. "My-my mother said it wasn't proper, and that I must learn to use the other, as a gentleman ought. But Papa said no, and made them let me write with my left hand. He said it didn't matter so much if I should look awkward with a quill; when it came to fighting with a sword, I should be at an advantage." "Your father is a wise man." His heart twisted, with something between jealousy and gratitude-but gratitude was far the uppermost.
( Diana Gabaldon )
[ Drums of Autumn ]
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