FLAMM
It isn't my fault! I'm frightened myself!—I tell you, mother, that man is so low, so rotten with evil … I tell you … at least he has spells when he's that way … that a man like myself, who is no saint either, feels as if his very bowels were turning in him! There's no end to that kind of corruption. A man may think he knows life inside out, that he's digested some pretty tough bits himself—but things like that—crimes—I tell you, one never gets beyond the elements in that kind of knowledge!
MRS. FLAMM
What has roused you so again?