Mortdecai: [calls hotel front desk] Hello, American? The rooms here are made of cement. Very good in case of an air raid. But for those of us trying to get a bit of rest after an arduous crossing, a bit of an acoustic nightmare. So would you please stop grunting like wildebeests and allow me to get some sleep, man? Please! Please!Jock: Sorry, sir. We'll try and keep it down.Mortdecai: Good God, Jock! Put that thing away, man!
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