Oi, Lofty, my old git. Getting a might chilly up in this human excuse for a dwelling. You wanna help a girl out, or 'm I gonna have to round some better looking men up to light my fireplace?

[Lechery.]

Might just round 'em up already, but doubt there's any other fine gentlemen 'round these parts who're so blasted easy to get the pants off of, eh?

Oi, Cousland. Got a blade for you.

[Her voice is hard and loud. Hotly annoyed. She's yelling. She's yelling directly into the phone.]

Trees of my ancestors, whatever lout is behind this'll taste the soles of my boots. Getting blasted tired of waking up off on holiday when I ain't packed and I'm not inclined to visit. Well? Speak up, eh? Come out here and face me, you lily-livered