“What, would you have rather they let you take your jacket off before they stabbed you?” Greta asked, sitting back on her heels. She was still furious, but the clinical fascination with what had just happened was currently eclipsing the need to shout at him. “‘One moment please, Mr. Violent Lunatic, I don’t want to get blood on my nice suit’?” “Well, yes,” he said, as if this were an obvious and rational statement. “I can be repaired, but good tailoring is very difficult to find.”
