[Half-mad with rage and scorn.] There he runs! The vile scoundrel! When you see a fellow like that from behind, you see the best side o' him! Fy, I says! He's all smooth an' spruce on the outside, an' his innards rotten as dirt. A body could die o' disgust!
STRECKMANN
[Turns, pale and sinister.] Ah …! An' is that so indeed! You don't never mean it!… 'Tis not very appetisin' the way you makes it out. Why was you so hot after it, then?
ROSE
I? Hot after you?
STRECKMANN
Maybe you've forgotten already?
ROSE
Scoundrel!