The room erupted completely!
"You're trying to dismember the United Kingdom!!" Portillo slammed the table, his face turning liver-colored with anger.
"The United Kingdom is already dead!"
The Prime Minister roared back fiercely, his voice tearing through, eyes finally bursting with the savage light of a dying beast, "Dead in the cow dung heaps of Delhi! Dead in the hands of guerrillas in the Scottish Highlands! Dead on the protest placards in the streets of London! What we need to do now is not to dress up the corpse, but to see if we can carve out some pieces of useful meat from it before they all rot away together!"
He gasped for air, chest heaving violently, looking at the stunned crowd:
