He rolls his eyes. "You would think that. Pomona argued that you'd prefer to be useful, so it ended in the greenhouse, but not without due ceremony. The relevant plants did well."
"Is it?" he asks unhelpfully, and then, relenting, "Your general gist has been moderately obvious since 1991, Quin. That was much longer ago for me than for you. I have certainly not forgotten the sorting feast of that year."
"Or make a salad."
"Mm." After a moment's reflection, "I suppose no one would object if one to set fire to a building that were no longer there."