"Oh, fantastic. When did 'pissoir' become a quality you were looking for in a theatre?" Ellen juggles the flashlight and her spare glove, trying to slip it back on before she catches frostbite. She's certain she's at risk for frostbite. And possibly lung poisoning. Maybe rabies, depending on what's waiting for them inside. Bats. Rats. Cockroaches.
The estate agent hands over the keys. "Do we actually have to go in?" Ellen complains. "I can hate it just fine from out here."