— Now, tell me news of my beloved England. I want to hear absolutely everything.
— Hang on. I can't believe your crew fell for that. And where in God's name did you get that mannequin from?
— Oh, it works every time.
— An ounce of bargaining, a pinch of trickery, a soupcon of intimidation, et voila! The perfect recipe for a towering reputation without ever having to spill one drop of blood.
— Ever try to get blood stains out of a silk shirt? Nightmare.
— Right. I still don't understand how they won't recognize me.
— Tristan, dear boy, when I'm done, your own mother won't recognize you.