Enough to buy some damn painkillers. And not just one bottle. A few bottles.
[Jack grumbled about it being like having children who wanted things from him but wanted nothing to do with him as he dug out two hundred quid and handed it over.]
Don’t say I don’t do anything for you.
Heh. Well thanks, World War II. You’re a good man. Sometimes.
All the time. You just choose to ignore it the other 99% of the time.