[Prior raises a warning finger to counter Byerly's mime.]

In a bowl, sweetheart, we're not savages. Besides, I have my reputation to think of. I can't greet the neighbors after standing out here, pressing things into your mouth in the dark.

[Oh, he could, and with a smile too. But Prior's stood for long enough, and inside there will be light and he won't need to compensate so much for his eyes and his leg. So he affects a southern accent, fans himself in a thrill of affronted sensibilities, and sweeps toward the door.]