Barry and NoHo Hank go straight for a change. Sort of.

Nathan is there in the kitchen, waiting for him, unwrapping his hands.

Solomon Tozer proves harder to tame than other men, and Hickey faces his own mutiny in miniature.

Fitzjames and Crozier take comfort in each other, despite everything.

Susan and the man in black make a palaver.

Ding Rong, in his narrowed dagger-keen focus on his task, is unsure of the time when he is first made aware of Wang Zhi’s approach. He knows only by the dark of his workroom, dim-lit by his low-burned candle, that it is well into the evening. He knows only that it is no other visitor but Wang Zhi, circling into his periphery, portended by a flutter of draping fabric, because no other but Wang Zhi would dare to come unannounced.

Old Billy Gibson has an eye for likely prospects.

Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill-humor or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.

Irving gets pissed on and has the time of his life.

Two kinsmen make an auspicious start to a hunting trip by avoiding their relatives and having sex in tents. (They're very nice tents, though.)

You have misled a prince, a royal king,
A happy gentleman in blood and lineaments,
By you unhappied and disfigur'd clean...

Henry thinks he's being helpful. How cute.