CONSTANTINE: This peculiar elevation of yours, Drake, I’m confused.
It’s unlikely to be merited by a sudden emergence of brains in that gorilla skull of yours.
THATCHER: Who do you think you’re…
DRAKE: Sergeant, leave him.
CONSTANTINE: Francis Thatcher, mother dead, father invalided on a coal barge.
Sister, Lily, two counts of soliciting before her 18th birthday.
But you are the sole breadwinner in that household now.
Are you not, Sergeant?
Sergeant Drummond, a man full grown, still living with his mother.
Do your colleagues here smirk at such?