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: You're not planning on singing me through the door, are you? Reeves
: I've got the Carregio in here. Tom Ripley
: Well, you're not coming in. Reeves
: I'm fucking coming in. Tom Ripley
: No, because it's not a Carregio, it's a *Correggio*. Just like it's not tacco but *ta-a-cco*. Not pasto but *pasta*, see? Your entire education comes from classic car magazine and you dress like you're on a condom run for the mob. By the way, it isn't a Correggio, it's a fake Rembrandt and until you know that, you're not coming in with me. Reeves
: Don't fuck me over here, pratt. Tom Ripley
: Don't threaten me. I'm not the one wearing an ear ring.
: She's the best cook in the Veneto. Reeves
: I'll bet she is. But eggs is eggs.
: [tucking into eggs
] Mmmm, exquisito!
: It's him. Now he usually wears those 'orrible gold rimmed glasses and a great big fuck off Russian furry hat. You know, they had to kill three bears to make that.
: Well, I learnt that once a week, regular as clockwork, he visits the zoo. He always ends up in the insect room. Well, that's where his real friends are, you know, bugs, creepy crawlies, slimey fucking things just like himself.
: Well... you can't just go around killing people... Even bastards have friends... Reeves
: ...even dead bastards