Fc: And curiously enough, that car, too ran out of petrol, which forced you to spend the night under a communist attack.
That was when the American saved your life, was it not?
F: I didn’t ask him to. I told him he was being a fool.
Fc: It’s depressing how much the human being does instinctively what is foolish…and worse. Knowing how deeply you must regret the murder of a friend who saved your life’ even over your objection, and having thought about it through the night’ can you be now of any help to me?
F: sorry’ I didn’t think about it through the night.
I was extremely tired.
I slept deeply.
Fc: Then as a man of untroubled sleep, as a reporter, do you have any views?
F: Perhaps he was killed by the communists.
They’re murdered by of people in Saigon.
Fc: A distinct possibility. But why?
F: Perhaps they didn’t like his friendship with General the’.
The French may have murdered him for the some reason.
Fc: A remote possibility.
F: After all, the’ has been fighting both the French and the communists.
Perhaps the Cao-Dais killed him to punish General the’ for leaving their army.
Perhaps General the’ killed him because he knew the Gao-Dais, and , well…perhaps he was murdered because someone wanted his money.
Fc: At any rate, we have ruled out suicide.
F: you’re not thinking up some new electronic third degree?
Fc: By what chain of thought I cannot say, but I’ve been thinking suddenly about the American’s dog.
F: you didn’t find it was—.
Fc: If was never lost.
You told you me that we were not looking for it.
F: when did you find it?
Fc: Last night in the mud, not far from the American.
I suppose it refused to leave the body.
They killed it, too.
F: I’m truly sorry to hear that.
Fc: I would like to know why you lied to me.
The American visited you yesterday.
Not long before he was killed.
F: what gives you that idea?
Where you live, at the foot of the stairs, the workmen finished laying the cement at half past 4:00 yesterday afternoon, then they went on to another job.
F: there must be many floors in Saigon being repaired with cement.
Fc: With the footprints of a dog that match exactly the ones of the poor, dead beast?
F: I have nothing to tell you…nothing at all.
Fc: Perhaps later, then.
After you have become more…uninvolved.
F: You do think. I killed him.
Fc: No.
F: Then why is it so important whether I saw the American again yesterday before —before he died?
F: Mr.Joe morton’s office.
Hello, Miss He? Don’t hang up.
I’ve been ringing your flat for twenty minutes.
Have you told Phuong not to answer the phone?
Will you stop living to me?
I know she must be there!
Where is she, then?
Yes, I know you have a job to do, and I intend to go on bothering you as much as I want until I find Phuong!
F: Won’t you have a drink?
Fc: Perhaps a little English whiskey-soda.
I understand you’re not going home, that your newspaper permits you ta stay.
F: I only received that letter this afternoon.
When did you read it?
Fc: This morning.
It is fortunate it arrived after the killing rather than before.
F: yes, you’d have had quite a case against me.
Is that why you think I was concerned in his death?
That my motive was wanting Phuong back?
Fc: Now that the American is dead—could I have a little more soda? –has she come back to you?
F: or that my motive was revenge for losing Phuong?
Fc: You did not kill him. But you and I know who did.
F: Actually, you ‘ll never find the man, or men, who killed him
He was killed at long distance, as much by an idea as anything else.
Fc: An idea?
F: All his life they saturated him with this idea—from book and slogans, church pulpits, lecture platforms.
Fc: An idea so repugnant that he was killed for it?
F: You’re have mend a good priest.
What is it about you that would make it so easy to confess?
If there were anything to confess.
Fc: You have mixed for yourself a drink but you’re not drinking it.
F: It might be unwise.
There are no secrets of the confessional in your profession.
Fc: Secrecy is seldom important to a man who confesses.
He has other motives.
F: To cleanse himself?
Fc: Not always.
Sometimes he wants only to see himself clearly as he is.
Clearly as he is.
Sometime he’s just weary of deception.
F: It agreed I was weary of deception, would it necessarily mean my deception?
Fc: And curiously enough, that car, too ran out of petrol, which forced you to spend the night under a communist attack.
That was when the American saved your life, was it not?
F: I didn’t ask him to. I told him he was being a fool.
Fc: It’s depressing how much the human being does instinctively what is foolish…and worse. Knowing how deeply you must regret the murder of a friend who saved your life’ even over your objection, and having thought about it through the night’ can you be now of any help to me?
F: sorry’ I didn’t think about it through the night.
I was extremely tired.
I slept deeply.
Fc: Then as a man of untroubled sleep, as a reporter, do you have any views?
F: Perhaps he was killed by the communists.
They’re murdered by of people in Saigon.
Fc: A distinct possibility. But why?
F: Perhaps they didn’t like his friendship with General the’.
The French may have murdered him for the some reason.
Fc: A remote possibility.
F: After all, the’ has been fighting both the French and the communists.
Perhaps the Cao-Dais killed him to punish General the’ for leaving their army.
Perhaps General the’ killed him because he knew the Gao-Dais, and , well…perhaps he was murdered because someone wanted his money.
Fc: At any rate, we have ruled out suicide.
F: you’re not thinking up some new electronic third degree?
Fc: By what chain of thought I cannot say, but I’ve been thinking suddenly about the American’s dog.
F: you didn’t find it was—.
Fc: If was never lost.
You told you me that we were not looking for it.
F: when did you find it?
Fc: Last night in the mud, not far from the American.
I suppose it refused to leave the body.
They killed it, too.
F: I’m truly sorry to hear that.
Fc: I would like to know why you lied to me.
The American visited you yesterday.
Not long before he was killed.
F: what gives you that idea?
Where you live, at the foot of the stairs, the workmen finished laying the cement at half past 4:00 yesterday afternoon, then they went on to another job.
F: there must be many floors in Saigon being repaired with cement.
Fc: With the footprints of a dog that match exactly the ones of the poor, dead beast?
F: I have nothing to tell you…nothing at all.
Fc: Perhaps later, then.
After you have become more…uninvolved.
F: You do think. I killed him.
Fc: No.
F: Then why is it so important whether I saw the American again yesterday before —before he died?
F: Mr.Joe morton’s office.
Hello, Miss He? Don’t hang up.
I’ve been ringing your flat for twenty minutes.
Have you told Phuong not to answer the phone?
Will you stop living to me?
I know she must be there!
Where is she, then?
Yes, I know you have a job to do, and I intend to go on bothering you as much as I want until I find Phuong!
F: Won’t you have a drink?
Fc: Perhaps a little English whiskey-soda.
I understand you’re not going home, that your newspaper permits you ta stay.
F: I only received that letter this afternoon.
When did you read it?
Fc: This morning.
It is fortunate it arrived after the killing rather than before.
F: yes, you’d have had quite a case against me.
Is that why you think I was concerned in his death?
That my motive was wanting Phuong back?
Fc: Now that the American is dead—could I have a little more soda? –has she come back to you?
F: or that my motive was revenge for losing Phuong?
Fc: You did not kill him. But you and I know who did.
F: Actually, you ‘ll never find the man, or men, who killed him
He was killed at long distance, as much by an idea as anything else.
Fc: An idea?
F: All his life they saturated him with this idea—from book and slogans, church pulpits, lecture platforms.
Fc: An idea so repugnant that he was killed for it?
F: You’re have mend a good priest.
What is it about you that would make it so easy to confess?
If there were anything to confess.
Fc: You have mixed for yourself a drink but you’re not drinking it.
F: It might be unwise.
There are no secrets of the confessional in your profession.
Fc: Secrecy is seldom important to a man who confesses.
He has other motives.
F: To cleanse himself?
Fc: Not always.
Sometimes he wants only to see himself clearly as he is.
Clearly as he is.
Sometime he’s just weary of deception.
F: It agreed I was weary of deception, would it necessarily mean my deception?
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