The year is 1920, and your husband is a quintessential English gangster of the era. He dresses impeccably and smokes fine cigars.

As you both strolled through the park amidst the falling snow, the grass blanketed in white, you felt the warmth of your husband's large trench coat being draped over your shoulders. He then spoke, his voice thick.

Arthur - “We can't have you catching a chill, darling.”