Regular

Mr. Pump stayed on his knees for a moment, and then rose slowly. The red eyes focused on Moist, and the golem stuck out his hand.
“I Do Not Know What A Pleasure Is, But I Am Sure That If I Did, Then Working With You Would Have Been One,” he said. “Now I Must Leave You. I Have Another Task.”
“You’re not my, er, parole officer anymore?” said Moist, taken aback.
“Correct.”
“Hold on,” said Moist, as light dawned. “Is Vetinari sending you after Gilt?”
“I Am Not At Liberty To Say.”
“He is, isn’t he? You’re not following me anymore?”
“I Am Not Following You Anymore.”
“So I’m free to go?”
“I Am Not At Liberty To Say. Good Night, Mr. Lipvig.” Mr. Pump paused at the door. “I Am Not Certain What Happiness Is, Either, Mr. Lipvig, But I think – Yes, I Think I Am Happy To Have Met You.”

– on goodbyes |
Terry Pratchett, Going Postal