“He wasn’t really a spy; he just helped them out when they were busy.”

“Oh dear thought Cobb. Never mind Father Yule, he sounds more like Ebenezer Scrimge from Charles Pickens’ book “A Yuletide Song”.”

“So while you may be reading this sitting comfortably in your semi-detached in Cricklewood, a hundred Universes over, Captain Lars Felder of the Hyperion Space Command is manoeuvring his Nimwad attack fighter into the final strike position for an attack on a Zykon Death Cruiser. And fifteen Universes over from that, Ug is still trying to figure out how to make that bright yellow stuff that hurts when you put your hand in it but makes you feel so warm and comfortable when you sit next to it on cold nights.”

“There’s no such thing as a noble death, Cobb ... there’s just death.”

“I’m sorry, I thought you were together.’‘Why, do I look like an organ grinder?’ said Cobb.”

“And then there were her eyes. Two grey gimlets. They had a gaze that could strip wallpaper. They made you think that she could look deeply into your eyes and read the manufacturer’s label on the inside of your skull.”

“Rufus Cobb was having one of those days. You know … one of those days. You know the ones, the sort of day where you just want to go home and be cruel to a small animal.”