"Yeah, right. I know what's really going on: Heather's hired you to kill me, hasn't she?" "Sammy!" "Why else would you catapult me through the air and feed me to a man-eating cot?"
I have no part of my body, in front at least, that is left without scars; there is no weapon, used at close quarters, or hurled from afar, of which I do not carry the mark. Nay, I have been wounded by the sword, hand to hand; I have been shot with arrows, I have been struck from a catapult, smitten many a time with stones and clubs.