"They're at work all day," Clint points out. "Rent's bad enough for a place next to Central Park, the rent inside's just unbelievable! Or, y'know, they're at the clubs, tearin' it up."

Clint, too, washes hands and un-dusts himself somewhat (could a compressed air arrow have helped? Clint, where the hell do you even come up with these things?) to help set the table. "Somethin' smells really nice, Verity," he adds, on his way to get (or at least find) the dishes.