Tony: "What you need to do, Gordon... and I really mean it... is find some... sort of... gullible chump and promise him... like... the moon. String him along for... a decade or so... with endless promises for a leadership handover. He'll believe you... because you're... well... you're a pretty straight kinda guy. Then, when you've made as much or an arrse of things as... well... as you safely can... bang out and leave him thinking he's finally got the crown. Of course, he's only got an unsolvable mess, but he won't realise that for... well... years, if you'e lucky. By that time, you're... like... sunning yourself at Silvio's place."
Gordon: "Nah, that'll never work. Nobody would be that gullible."
Lady Macblair. Out, damned spot! out, I say! One; two: why, then, âtis time to do ât. Hell is murky! Fie, my lord, fie! a soldier, and afeard? What need we fear who knows it, when none can call our power to account? Yet who would have thought Iraq to have had so much blood in it?
Brownquoâs ghost. He has spoke what he should not, I am sure of that: Hutton knows what he has known but chosen to say contrary.
Lady Macblair. Hereâs the smell of the blood still: mind you, all the lucre of Arabia will sweeten this little deal. Ho! Ho! Ho!