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: You know, I think you're nuts. You go barging around without a very clear idea of what you're doing. Everybody bats you down, smacks you over the head, fills you full of stuff... and you keep right on hitting between tackle and end. I don't think you even know which SIDE you're on. Philip Marlowe
: I don't know which side anybody's on. I don't even know who's playing today.
: [to private detective Philip Marlowe
] Sometimes I hate men. ALL men. Old men, young men... beautiful young men who use rosewater and... almost heels who are private detectives. Helen Grayle
: [hidden in the shadows, laughs - then she comes out
] Oh, I'm sorry, darling, I couldn't help laughing; but you should know by now that men play rough. They soften you up, throw you off guard, and then belt you one. Helen Grayle
: [to Marlowe
] That was a dirty trick, but maybe it'll teach you not to overplay a good hand. Now she doesn't like you. She hates men. Ann Grayle
: That was only the first half of the speech. The rest of it goes like this: I hate their women, too - especially the "big league blondes". Beautiful, expensive babes who know what they've got... all bubble bath, and dewy morning, and moonlight. And inside: blue steel, cold - cold like that... only not that clean. Helen Grayle
: Your slip shows, dear.
[Ann runs out of the beach house