Not a synthetic strand to be found in these clothes.

Kate's face practically collapses in on itself. Bite me? What a curious request! She reckons she couldn't have predicted that answer after all.

In an endeavor to translate the two words into something she'd understand, her features shift to contrition.

"I think y'may have misunderstood my meanin'. I meant only t'help in the most friendly-like way possible. Not — I wouldn't, certainly — that is, menfolk are what I..."