"How are you not shivering?" Napoleon demanded, as he and Illya sat watching a luxury yacht from a little fishing boat. "The air is like ice."
"It is my Slavic heritage."
Both men were bundled up against the elements, but Illya seemed comfortable, while Napoleon's teeth were chattering."
"I don't believe you," Solo countered. "Had you recently arrive from your homeland, I could accept that. But, you've been here too long, and grown soft."
"That is not what I meant," Illya told him, with a slight smile. "I was alluding to the fact that those of us from cold countries know how to dress for the weather. I understand that there is a saying, 'There is no such thing as bad weather, only unsuitable clothing'*."
"I suppose that your clothing is more suitable than mine."
"Indeed," the Russian confirmed. "I made sure I put on two sets of long johns."