"Well, Pink certainly does die pathetic," he soothed the perturbed murderer, dropping his professional brusqueness for frank comradeship.

"He's about the best little close-up dier I ever worked with.

He can get a sob anytime he rolls his eyes and gasps and falls backward." He clapped his hand down on Pink's shoulder and gave it a little shake.
"That's all right," drawled the Native Son, taking off his sombrero to deepen the crease and the dents, because three girls were coming across the lot.

"But I've got a complaint of my own to make.

When you holler for Bud to start the rough stuff, he just goes powder crazy.