Mr. Winchester
'Ere's a nice piece of land, up near Belfast I'm rather fond of. But you're right. London's in a class all 'er own.
Phone one? I don't want a human-miming half-breed, here. An' you know you've been at this too long, when the first thing runs through your mind is 'which Satan'? Not certain it rightly matters, none of the triumvirate are fond of me. They married a man? Why?