Spike: Darling, are you going to eat something?
Drusilla: I’m not hungry. I miss Prague.
Spike: You nearly died in Prague. Idiot mob. This is the place for us. The Hellmouth will restore you, put color in your cheeks, metaphorically speaking, and in a few week’s time…
Drusilla: The stars will align, and smile down on us.
Spike: And then, God, this town will burn.
Drusilla: A pretty fire!