[ Not unkindly, yes, that's the shape of it. That's the shape of life, one plodding day after another, nothing kind or unkind or great or wretched. Just — one long stretch into gray perpetuity.

Roy takes another inelegant mouthful from his goblet. It's not enough; a third and a fourth swallow soon follow. ]

C'mon. If you sing anything like you hold yourself, T'm sure every damn fool and fairy in the room would shut up pretty quick.