He makes a face, still half-turned away from Faraday because so what if he's jealous. When he'd been drunk, he could laugh about this all he wanted and talk about his own experiences, but now that he's sick and aching and feverish, he can't do anything but make faces about these women.

"How am I supposed to know this?" he gripes. "You talk about being the world's greatest lover, how am I to know you don't have some little chica waiting for you?"