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Lovelace: It
kills you, doesn't it? You'd love to make me tell you. But you can't.
Detective
Kleps: Why not do the right thing? Just tell us where the girl is.
Lovelace:
You know, I don't think I will. If you don't mind terribly.
Detective
Kleps: Is she OK?
Lovelace: Oh I wouldn't be too sure about that. Might
be running out of air about now. Poor little dear might be in quite some
distress. Just hoping against hope with all her sweet little heart that help
will come. Sad, isn't it? Really, really sad.
Detective
Kleps: You son of a bitch!
Lovelace: That, detective, is a fair and reasonable
evaluation of my true nature. I am by every civilized standard a sorry
miserable low-down son of a bitch. A son of a bitch with something you want.
Detective
Kleps: You're going to tell me
where she is.
Lovelace: Am I? I could have sworn I had expressed a
contrary intention.
Detective
Kleps: Notice how quiet it is?
Lovelace: I'm sure our audience - behind that mirror -
is speechless.
Detective
Kleps: The audience had things to
do.
Lovelace: Whatever do you mean?
Detective
Kleps: It gets really busy around
here. I'm thinking everybody else is off questioning other suspects. Or maybe
having lunch. Or a smoke.
Lovelace: What are you saying?
Detective
Kleps: It's just you and me. Just
you and me having this quiet little chat.
Lovelace: What?
Detective
Kleps: Get up.
Lovelace: No!
Detective
Kleps: Here. Need some help?
Lovelace: Get the hell away from me!
Detective
Kleps: That's it. Up you go!
Lovelace: Help! Somebody help me!
Detective
Kleps: Careful. You're starting to
sound like that little girl.
Lovelace: Stop! You're hurting me!
Detective
Kleps: Am I? Let me try the other
arm.
Lovelace: You'll never get away with this!
Detective
Kleps: Don't let's worry about me.
Let's worry about you. And that little girl. Now, I'm going to ask you one more
time: where is she?
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