“Eh, I’ll be inside,” Vlad said with another soft scoff. “For some reason, I feel the urge to watch Hitman followed by Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”

“One of her parlour borders, Miss Harriet Smith, married a local farmer, Robert Martin, and is very happily settled. They have three daughters and a son, but the doctor has told her it is unlikely that further children can be expected and she and her husband are anxious to have another son as playmate to their own. Mr and Mrs Knightley of Donwell Abbey are the most important couple in Highbury, and Mrs Knightley is a friend of Mrs Martin and has always taken a keen interest in her children.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Foster are not my foster parents. Also, they’re not even married to each other. Mr. Foster is married to a different Mrs. Foster, and Mrs. Foster, the first Mrs. Foster, is married to a different Mr. Foster. And though I don’t know the second Mr. Foster, I heard he was a real asshole.”

“I think it's something like Mr. Peter Sloane and the octogenarians. The other evening Mrs. Sloane was reading a newspaper ans she said to Mr. Sloane 'I see here that another octogenarian has just died. What is an Octogenarian, Peter?' And Mr. Sloane said he didn't know, but they must be very sickly creatures, for you never heard tell of them but they were dying.”

“Guess I can’t go back to working for Quetzalcoatl, eh?”“When this is over, Billy,” Black Hawk said. “I think maybe we should go and visit the feathered serpent. Hand in our resignations. I’ll bring a box of matches.”“You going to toast some marshmallows with him?”“I’ll toast something,” Black Hawk promised.”

“Mr. Barbecue-Smith was tossed to the floor.”