Mais c'est pour mieux t'entendre, ma p'tite fille, says Liam's typist, assuming a horrifying kind of Little Red Riding Hood parallel has at this point been evoked. Liam himself knows nothing about this, which is better for everyone. Presumably at this late (early?) hour he's finished or given up on the crossword and also killed some time by ousting from the store at least one individual whose blood does not contain enough blood, due to myriad other substances coursing through it. He does this mostly by staring at them, because Liam has no dots in brawl but does in fact carry an aura of marked creepiness about him.
So he can kind of appreciate Alida, let's say. "It's in the back left corner. Next to the milk." A beat. "Nice boots."
Possibly this would sound like a come-on from any other human being in the world.