七月 19, 2020 Scaramanga’s chuckle was like the dry chuckle of a gekko. “Just don’t you worry your liny head about the limey, Hal. He’ll be looked after when the weekend’s over. Picked him up in a bordello in a village nearby. Place where I go get my weed and a bit of local tail. Got only temporary staff here to see you fellers have a good tune over the weekend. He’s the temporariest of the lot. Those crocs have a big appetite. Ruby’ll be the main dish, but they’ll need a dessert. Just you leave him to me. For all I know he may be this James Bond man Mr. Hendriks has told us about. I should worry. I don’t like limeys. Like some good Yankee once said, ‘For every Britisher that dies, there’s a song in my heart.’ Remember the guy? Around the time of the Israeli war against them. I dig that viewpoint. Stuck-up bastards. Stuffed shirts. When the time comes, I’m going to let the stuffing out of this one. Just you leave him to me. Or let’s just say leave him to this.”
