[Vimes’ memory is like a book where someone’s crossed out all the words with a dark crayon, but he’s pretty sure that people don’t usually get the jump on him like that. He eyes her appraisingly.] Yeah, well, they didn’t ask if I had any opinions on the wardrobe.

[He points across the room—if you can call the ground floor of a building with chunks of the ceiling missing a room—to the corner where he first woke up.] Right there. Don’t ask me where I was before that. Haven’t got the faintest damn idea.