I have no idea what I'm going to do. I'm so deeply puzzled. I've done terrible things, I've killed three people. Really, I don't consider myself a terrible man, no more than-than others. See, Tom Gruneman had discovered me. We were here on business together and he found me and Jane McKenna in my hotel room. She had become hysterical and she started screaming and I guess I hit her. I don't actually recall, it all happened so quickly. Anyway, she fell and hit her head and that's when Tom came in the room. I guess he must have heard her screaming. But I never understood really why she...she did that, she had never screamed before. And it was the revulsion and the contempt that I saw in his face. And the certainty that sooner or later he would use it against me within the company. And I tried to endure that as long as I possibly could, you see. Just want me to keep on talking, don't you?
No, I don't. I do understand, I really do.
Make a man think that he's accepted. It's all a great big game to you. I mean, you're all obviously too lazy and too warped to do anything meaningful with your lives so you prey upon the sexual fantasies of others. I'm sure it comes as no great suprise to you when I say that there are little corners in everyone which were better off left alone; sicknesses, weaknesses, which-which should never be exposed. But... that's your stock in trade, isn't it -- a man's weakness? And I was never really fully aware of mine... until you brought them out.
What's your bag, Klute? What do you like? Are you a talker? A button freak? Maybe you like to get your chest walked around with high heeled shoes. Or make 'em watch you tinkle. Or maybe you get off wearing women's clothes. Goddamned hypocrite squares!
I hope this doesn't make my cold any worse.