"I'm not your..." Erskine regained his balance, straightened up, and slapped Rover in the face. It was a stage-slap, one that used both hands to add to the noise so the imagined pain from it would make the casual observer flinch. "How dare you?" he demanded. "Is she prettier than me? Is she younger?" He went for another stage-slap, but changed his mind halfway through and punched Rover in the arm instead. It was a very solid arm. It was a very fleshy, hard, solid arm. "How dare you? How dare you abandon me?"

He'd abandoned the accent, and most of the act, by the time he punched Rover's arm a third time. "How dare you abandon us and resort to spying on us from the afterlife? Neither of you tried hard enough. Neither of you have the drive or the sheer bloodymindedness of Skulduggery, and that - that needs to be - "

He stopped talking then, because it was getting remarkably difficult over the large choked-up knot growing in his throat.