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…you’re not more than one generation away from poor white trash, are you Agent Starling?
And that accent you’ve tried so desperately to shed?
Pure West Virginia.
What’s your father dear?
Is he a coal miner?
Does he stink of the lamp?
You know how quickly the boys found you…
all those tedious sticky fumblings in the back seats of cars…
while you could only dream of getting out…
getting anywhere…
getting all the way to the F…B…I…