Good portents for your duel, do you think?
No, sir. I'm afraid the duel is off.
Off?
As in "sod". I'm not doing it.
By thunder, here's a pretty game - you will stay, sir, and do you duty by your prince-!
Or what, you port-brained twerp? I've looked after you all my life! Even when we were babies, I had to show you which bit of your mother was serving the drinks!
Oh please, you've got to help me! I've got so much to give! I need more time!
A poignant plea, sir. One that could melt even the stoniest of hearts. But I'm afraid the answer must remain "You're going to die, fat pig."
Wait! I'll give you everything!
Everything?
Everything!
The money? The castles? The jewelry?
Yes!
The highly artistic but also highly illegal set of French lithographs?
Everything!
The amusing clock where the little man comes out and drops his trousers every hour?
Yes, yes, alright!
Very well, I accept. A man may fight for many things; his country, his principles, his friends, the glistening tear on the cheek of a golden child. But personally, I'd mud-wrestle my own mother for a ton of cash, an amusing clock and a sack of French porn! You're on!
Hurrah!
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