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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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