“Tis I, my sweet, your rough-and-ready manWell hid by night to beg your fine white handThough king of bandits, draped in chains of goldI'm poor in love and suffer grief untold”

“Why am I begging you, who parades your suffering over the ruins like a king in order to ensure that you will never be touched deeply, you who're always laughing.”

“People sleep peacefully in their beds at night, because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.(By George Orwell) Describing your country's servicemen.”

“Of course, you’ll have to fly to the refugee camp at Dadaab,” Will observed thoughtfully at one point. He glanced at me. “To avoid the bandits,” he explained.Dan and Nick nodded gravely.“I beg your pardon?” I said, taking a sudden interest. “It’s bandit country all round there,” Will said.“Where?” I asked, peering at the map for the first time.“Oh, just there,” Will said, waving a hand vaguely across most of east Africa. “But you’ll be fine in a plane.”“They only rarely shoot at planes,” Nick explained.”

“Your shower is ready - I turned it on last night.”

“I'd rather be poor to my bones than be rich with your money, that is like a trigger, ready to be pulled in my face.”