Dexter
[Mike walks in, carrying a drunk Tracy] [To George]
Now easy old man! [To Mike] She's not hurt?
Mike
No, no.
Tracy
Not wounded, sire, but dead.
Mike
It seems the minute she hit the water, the wine hit her.
George
Now look here, Connor.
Dexter
A likely story, Connor.
Tracy
Hello, Dexter. Hello, George. Hello, Mike. My feet are made of clay. Made of clay, did you know? Good niiiggghhhttt little man!
Dexter
[Mike carries her upstairs]
How are the mighty fallen! But if I know Tracy - and I know her well, she'll remember little of this. For the second time in her life, she'll draw quite a tidy blank.
