"Defilers!" Valenti Shrieks, pushing open the doors and striding inside, broom held out before him like a spear. "You shall pay for your desecration? Were you born in a barn? Did your mothers not teach you the most basic manners? I should think not, harlots and whores, all of them! Are you no more than rutting orks than you cannot even take your shoes off before entering?" He points to where an assemblage of footwear is in a line against a wall. "And who do you think will clean up after you? Hmmm? It is I! Poor brother Valenti!"