"Oh dear. Mister Brooks wasn't very kind at all, was he? Well, allow me to cheer you up a mite!"
He tilts his glass of milk and pours some on her head before he begins river dancing once more, allowing the heavy Coalition boots to land uncomfortably close to Miss Phate. On occasion, a carelessly tapped heel might momentarily be paused by a finger before a snap allowed the motion to complete the rhythmic cycle. A jauntily swung foot might, at times, be met with a rib while he jigged.
All the while he whistled a long forgotten show tune.
