Thorn: Thorn to Birch. Crisis handled. Are there still protestors across from our gate?
Birch: A few, yes.
Thorn: Is my niece still there? She’s the one in all black, with black hair and black makeup.
Birch: Can’t pick her out from the black shadows on the black buildings.
Thorn: Well, I’m going to tell her she can wait with me until the rain stops. So if she emerges from the gloom, open the gate for her.
Birch: Yes, sir.
Thorn: Hi, Hyacinth.
Hyacinth: Wow, Uncle Thorn . . . you almost look like you had a rougher night than me.