Make no mistake that Arthur is absolutely ready to continue kicking and screaming about this. But Numbers telling him to settle does a world more good than Norman doing it, and he sits back down with obvious reluctance. There are sharp red lines on both wrists from the force of his reaction, though, and he's clearly simmering, not settled.

"Don't presume to tell me about my own fucking life, doctor." With as much acidic scorn on the word as he can possibly muster.