“Women,” Mart says with deep disapproval, appearing at Cal’s shoulder. “The pub’s full of women tonight.”

“They get everywhere,” Cal agrees gravely. “You reckon they should stay home and take care of the kids?”

“Ah, Jaysus, no. We’ve the twenty-first century here now. They’ve as much right to a night out as anyone. But they change the atmosphere of a place. You can’t deny that. Look at that, now.” Mart nods at the girl in the pink dress, who has started dancing with one of her girlfriends in a few square inches of space between the tables and the bar. “That’s disco behavior, that is. That’s what you get when there’s women in. They oughta have pubs of their own, so they can have their pint in peace without some potato-faced f-er trying to get into their knickers, and I can have mine without your man’s hormones getting in the air and spoiling the taste.”

“If they weren’t here,” Cal points out, “you’d be stuck looking at nothing better’n my hairy face for the evening.”

“True enough,” Mart concedes. “Some of the women in here tonight are a lot more scenic than yourself, no harm to you. Not all of them, but some.”

Tana French, The Hunter, pp. 120 – 121