"Fock ye, ye dumb caow," Jack shouted at the woman. "Ye come in, knives goin' snicker-snack and tryin' t'murder me, and ye speak o' protectin' 'er? What sort o' person does that? Yer a crazae fock 'n I should twist yer 'ead t'the left 'til it goes<span style="font-style: italic">snap</span>."<br/><br/>Jack should have fallen in love with the newcomer, because she was a woman, but he only glared at her with hateful eyes, and blood still trickling down his wounded arms. Even if a stab to the neck would not kill him, any would still hurt, and he had no reason to believe this other woman had known he could never die.<br/><br/>"Yer a fockin' killer, ain't ye, caow? Ye'd murder me, ye'll murder the girl, 'n I'm ain't gone let ye. Angel, yer a sweet thing 'n I 'vice ye t'fly 'wae from people like 'er an' me. We ain't good fer ye, but I 'spect she might be the worse. If'n yer goin' with 'er, I'm goin' with ye unnil she leaves. Still got me 'phant in the taown. I want it back. Come with me t'git it, an' I'll be... how ye sae, I'll be yer bootyguard from then on 'til yer safe?"