Fucking Christ it's hot. I'm done, Petersen. Fix this shit now. London was never this hot. Ever. I'm so done with this being human shit. I'm going to sweat to death. I am hot and cranky and if you don't get someone out here to take care of the horses instead of me, they're going to starve because I am sick of being in the heat. I think I've lost ten pounds with all this damn sweating. Make it stop, damnit. Or my little five foot four ass is going to beat you to death with a thermometer.
[private to Sam]
Your bed's too small. I want to sleep with you but if you touch me during the night, I'm going to scream. I hate this sticky sweaty bullshit. And my bed's bigger than yours.