MANSON. Yes.
ROBERT. Well, why cawn't yer arnser a bloke when 'e arsks yer civil?
MANSON. You didn't make it dear that you wanted to eat with me.
ROBERT. Want a bit of 'eart in it, eh?
MANSON. Yes, that's all.
ROBERT [largely]. Sit dahn, ole pal! Mek yourself at 'ome!
[MANSON obeys.]
See, wot was I tawkin' abaht. Just afore you turned narsty?
MANSON. You were going to say something about—your little girl's mother.
[ROBERT'S cutlery bristles up like bayonets.]