What? says Leon, spinning around, toasting Freed and Claire with his finally emptied flute of champagne. “I'm smasheroo,” he informs them, unconvincingly.

“You mean our little beach girl? Oh, she's just a passing whim of Ross's. You know how he is. Always has to be different. She's most likely the result of a midlife crisis.”

And if by chance their Curiosity leads them to ask, what they ſhould not know; it is a great deal better to tell them plainly, than to pop them off with a Falſhood, or a frivolous Answer

“Anyway, I don't care how many notches Nash has on his guitar neck, belt, rifle, bedpost, or anything else notchable.”