rub the cream on your skin. rub it in gooood.
rub it in! or you'll get the hose again.
yes, it will, precious, won't it? it will get the hose!
no. just one day.
put the bottle in the basket. no funny business, or you'll be sorry.
oil.
you're leaving oil on the skin.
preeeeecious!
precious, come on precious! busy busy day today.
momma's gonna be sooo beautiful!
you come here this minute, you little scamp!
precious?
sweetheart?
precious, are you all right?
nooooooo!
stares down at her, a long beat, breathing heavily.
you think she's in pain? you don't know what pain is. but you're going to find out.
looking down at her, smiles.
raises his gun again, spinning back towards -
bites his lip, his aim wavering, as he can't decide where to safely place his shot. the maddening buzzer sounds again, even more insistently, and he cries out with frustration and fury. but as the buzzer continues, he reluctantly uncocks his gun, looking up angrily towards his front door.
they don't live here anymore.
just briefly. what's the problem, officer?
jack gordon.
no. wait.  was she a great, fat person? i may have seen her, i'm not sure.
mrs. lippman had a son, maybe he could help you. i have his card somewhere. do you mind stepping inside, while i looks for it?
that horrible business, i shiver every time i think about it.
are they close to catching somebody, do you think?
yes. i bought the house from her, two years ago.
no, nothing at all. has the fbi learned something? because the police here don't seem to have the first clue.
do you have his description yet, or some fingerprints?
turns back towards her cheerfully, holding out a business card.
ahhh. here's that number.
is about to reply when the moth suddenly flies up from behind him, flutters past his face. he turns, looking at it. he looks back at clarice, his mouth still open.
in the kitchen. i'll show you.
slowly tilts his head to one side, smiles at her.
turns, then all at once, in two quick steps, he is gone, disappearing into his dining alcove, then kitchen.
who has flattened himself against a wall, arms spread like a high priest, colt in one hand. he wears his goggles and kimono, and under that - draping down over his naked arms, like some hideous mantle - his terrifying, half-completed suit of human skins. this is an exquisite moment for him - a ritual of supreme exaltation. he smiles at clarice as, completely unaware, she moves beyond him, exposing her back. very slowly and quietly he steps out behind her, taking his gun in both hands, aiming.