Thorne: Champagne, or potatoes? Or both?
Zilpha: So how did it resolve itself? Did you both see sense?
Thorne: No. I shot him between the eyes, and a host of devils flew out of his head and down the river. In that event it would be potatoes, wouldn't it? Simple sustenance. Life goes on.
Zilpha: Before you drink anymore could you tell me what really happened?
Thorne: But in the event of a messenger coming to tell you that he had killed me, well, champagne. All the wild possibilities. In truth, neither is the case. It was void.
Zilpha: How?
Thorne: No need for anymore questions. Not when half of London will be re-telling the story, anyway.
Zilpha: So I shall hear through gossip?
Thorne: As I hear about you.