She has not begun to stem the tide of British ugliness—the yobbish teenagers shivering in their torn gear; the shoddy streets littered with fast-food packaging; the drunks urinating on London's tube platforms; the drug culture. It is facile to call those concerned “Thatcher's children”: she is not responsible for their actions.

You better call the Super if you want your repairs done [the specific superintendent in the implicit context of a specific apartment building; parallel with President versus president]

Will you carry me to town?

[H]owever hard she pushed the tough-talkin' shtick, she remained doe-eyed, glowing and somehow unassailably demure.