The Silence of the Lambs

'Do you know what you look like, with your good bag and your cheap shoes? You look like a rube. A well-scrubbed husking robe with a little taste. A well-scrubbed, hustling rube, with a little taste. Good nutrition's given you length of bone, but you're not more than one generation from poor white trash, are you? And that accent you've tried so desperately to shed: pure West Virginia. What is your father, dear? Is he a coal miner? Does he stink of the lamp? 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 FBI.'