"Ha! Never boring, this is true." Dmitri stood up and walked to the window, looking out over the city. "You know, when I come to England fifteen years ago, I speak maybe ten words of English. 'Hello,' 'goodbye,' 'vodka,' 'fuck you'—important words, yes? I learn more, but never good. Always sound like bear trying to speak human language."
"Your English has improved considerably," Oliver offered diplomatically.
"You are liar, but is kind lie. I appreciate." Dmitri turned back from the window. "Point is, I need translator not just for words. I need translator for... how you say... culture? I understand Russian way of business. Very simple. You strong, you take. You weak, you get taken. In England, everything is complicated. Everyone smile, say nice words, then stab you in back with lawyer papers."
"That's called capitalism, sir."
"In Russia, we also have capitalism. But more honest. If I want to stab you, I use actual knife." Dmitri grinned. "Is more clear."