Don’t get her upset? I’m hanging seven stories from a gargoyle in a pouring rain and you want me to worry about her? . . . You know what she’s doing in there? She’s playing with her false eyelashes. . . (crossing back to Norma.) I already made up my mine. The minute I get my hands on her, I’m gonna kill her. (Moves back to door.) once I show them the wedding bills, no jury on earth would convict me. . . And if by some miracle she survives, let there be no talk of weddings. . . She can go into a convent. (Slowly moving back to Norma below bed.) Let her become a librarian with thick glasses and a pencil in her hair, I’m not paying for anymore cancelled weddings. . . (Working himself up into a frenzy, he rushes to the table by the armchair and grabs up some newspapers.) Now get her out of there or I start to burn these newspapers and smoke her out.