“And I shall be popping back shortly with a man. Er . . . a gentleman who is not anxious to meet civic authority.” “Quite, thur. Give them a pitchfork and they think they own the bloody plathe, thur.” “But he’s not a murderer or anything.” “I’m an Igor, thur. We don’t athk quethtionth.” “Really? Why not?” “I don’t know, thur. I didn’t athk.”
