"Pretty crappy, huh?" Aimee asked. "Not what your kind is used to."
"The trouble with you is you're old-fashioned," Gabby said directly.
"That chair's brand new modernistic. And what about the TV set? Nothing old-fashioned about that."
"I don't mean your furniture. I mean your attitude toward people ... talking about my kind and your kind. It's Victorian." Gabby smiled. "We're both of us people. Don't let's quarrel."
"No? I thought you come up here looking for a fight."
"I don't believe in fighting. What is there to fight about?"
"Your boy friend's letter." Aimee lit a cigarette. "I won't kid you, doll. I seen him write it last night. He was so dirty drunk he forget to put it in the envelope when he sealed it. I got it right here."
"May I see it, please?"
"Wouldn't you like to?" Aimee smiled without parting her lips. "Old three-names is in a bad jam, ain't he? I ought to take that letter to the cops. It's against the law writing dirty letters like that and sending 'em through the mail."
"You misunderstand, Aimee. It was a joke."