"Tarantino, Quentin - Pulp Fiction script" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tarantino Quentin)

Vince smiles to himself. Jules has got style.

Brett has just shit his pants. He's not crying or whimpering,
but he's so full of fear, it's as if his body is imploding.

JULES
(to Brett)
Oh, I'm sorry. Did that break your
concentration? I didn't mean to do
that. Please, continue. I believe
you were saying something about
"best intentions."

Brett can't say a word.

JULES
Whatsamatter? Oh, you were through
anyway. Well, let me retort.
Would you describe for me what
Marsellus Wallace looks like?

Brett still can't speak.

Jules SNAPS, SAVAGELY TIPPING the card table over, removing
the only barrier between himself and Brett. Brett now sits in
a lone chair before Jules like a political prisoner in front
of an interrogator.

JULES
What country you from!

BRETT
(petrified)
What?

JULES
"What" ain't no country I know! Do
they speak English in "What?"

BRETT
(near heart attack)
What?

JULES
English-motherfucker-can-you-speak-
it?

BRETT
Yes.