All right, then, if you win, you can pretend you're a fancy lady in San Francisco, and I'll bring you a glass of buttermilk. I don't even like buttermilk, girl. Well, what then? You know. I just want to go to San Francisco. That's what I want. Laurie, listen to me now. Pretty little thing. You see, life in San Francisco.
I'm confused. All I hear from you, you spineless cowards, is how poor you are. How you can't afford my taxes, my protection. And yet somehow, you've all managed to find the money to hire a professional gunfighter to kill me. Where's all this money coming from? What am I to think? If you've got so much to spare, I'm just going to have to take some.
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