'Release the door, I need the toilet, urgently!’ Dr Antony cried dramatically to his driver as the Presner cruised silently down the gentle S-shaped driveway to his home.
He nearly tripped as he exited the lounging saloon transport, pushing briskly past Hurdin as he waddled, uncharacteristically rapidly, into his house, making a beeline for the downstairs bathrooms. Once inside, and with the door securely locked, he pulled out his data block and called Dr Harold Shipwater.
’What the hell are you playing at Shipwater, do you know that you have just pulled me from a very important meeting? This had better not be some sort of sick joke or by the Prophet, I’ll skin you alive and exhibit your flayed carcass in the College of Surgeons god-damn Markavicts room!’