Doris Thatcher

Andy Wainwright: — Maybe they're not here.
Nicholas Angel: — Wait here.
Doris Thatcher: — Don't go in on your own.
Danny Butterman: — Don't worry, he knows what he's doing.
Nicholas Angel: — Okay. They're in. You deal with the store. I'll deal with the trolley boy.

— Nasty way to go. I think our Mr. merchant tried to have a little fry up and left the gas on. Spends his whole life devoted to the refrigerator then gets killed by an oven. I told him several times, you shouldn't eat late at night.
— Oh, I don't know. I quite like a little midnight gobble.
— Cocks.