“Bloody Hell.”
Buffy stared at Spike in alarm. “What’s wrong?”
He grinned. “Not a thing, love. Sod. Knackers. Bleeding Fockers.”
“You’re swearing! Has the spell worn off?”
“Nah, pet. Found a way round it. Bloody, covered in blood. Hell’s a town in Norway. Sod, a piece of turf. Knackers make stuff out of dead horses, and Fockers are Dutch aeroplanes. I’m free!” He stood up and put on his coat.
“You’re not going to go round the College not-swearing at everybody, are you?” Buffy said crossly. “I won’t have it.”
Spike smirked. “Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a dam.”