Here you see (Trimble) walking out of incomplete talks last week, orchestrating a campaign of mass intimidation and all that went with it, and then he walks back into the talks this morning.

come into the talks and move into substantive negotiations.

negative, carping and begrudging campaign against Sinn Fein.

Yes. Well, I know who they are alleged to be ... And I have asked questions just this week as to why these people whose names are, rightly or wrongly, in common currency, why they aren't being questioned and why they aren't being charged.

There are still going to be a lot of ups and downs in this campaign for the next week or so, but I'm going to do what I've been doing all along, which is keep talking straight to New Yorkers.

He poked his finger into my chest again. “Well, I have something to tell you: don’t let the sun set on you in this county, because…”
I grabbed his wrist and yanked him forward, tripping him with my foot. He went down back first and I caught him by his throat, three feet above the ground, lifted him up a bit and bent down to his face. My eyes glowed with murderous red. My voice turned rough with an animal growl. “Listen well, because I won’t be repeating myself, you racist prick. If you make any trouble for me or my people, I’ll hunt you down like the pig you are and carve a second mouth across your gut. They’ll find you hanging by your own intestines. The next time you hear something laugh and howl in the night, hug your family, because you won’t see the sunrise.”
I opened my fingers. He crashed on the ground, his face white as a sheet. He scrambled backward, rolled to his feet, and took off.
The three shapeshifters stared at me, openmouthed.
“That’s how you intimidate people. No witnesses and not a mark on him. Get your asses to the car.