Jos. W. Randall:
Now you listen to me, Hinchecliffe. It'll be for the last time. I'm through with your dirty rag, and I'm through with you. Oh, I'm not ducking any of the blame for this thing. You thought of the murder and I committed it. But I did it for smaller profit. For wages. You did for circulation.
Bernard Hinchecliffe:
You must be mad.
Jos. W. Randall:
Mad. Yes I am. All my life I'll be mad. Because all my life I'll be seeing Nancy Voorhee's daughter standing there. And asking me why I killed her mother. And I want you, Hinchecliffe, to enjoy the picture with me. I want you to wake up in the night and see your own squashed, putrid little soul. I want you know that every human being that works for you knows what a diseased hypocrite you are. We all know what you are! But we take your money and do your work, because we're afraid to starve. You'll have my resignation and release of my contact on your desk immediately.
Bernard Hinchecliffe:
But Randell, don't be hasty.
Jos. W. Randall:
Get out. Get out!
Riportata da il
05/03/2025 alle ore 10:29
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