Fint: We didn't strand you. We threw you out for being a thief.
Phelan: And you know something--I still am.
Portlass: You are a most welcome guest, I assure you.
Flint: I think the word you mean is prisoner.
Portlass: That's a nasty word. I would never use it.
Portlass Tighten up the boot. I have no objection to hurting him. Maybe the pain will teach him not to escape.
Portlass: Would you mind very much driving for me, Mr. McCullough?
Flint: Are you asking me?
Phelan: He's telling you. Go on, get down.
Portlass: We're all dying. Every day. The calendar is our executioner.