Dot. Dot. Dot. Arthur the son of a
bitch's poncing on Dot. Dot walks Bond Street and Clifford Street every night.
I’ve been to kip with Dot. Dot strips well. STRIPS WELL. That’s what I said.
There's plenty of tarts what strips well. Who said they did anything more? You
dosey son of a Wardour Street bag, speak to me like that again and I'll kick
you straight in the teeth. Know where your teeth are? I won't have to reach
above your waist to find them. You may have rumpled up a kip with Dot. Let me
lay hands on you, you cheap messer around Lisle Street and I'll show you what
women are meant for.
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