Lindsey: I don't want to be here any more than you want to see me. But I don't have a choice.
Angel: You always have a choice. I mean, you sold your soul for a fifth-floor office and a company car.
Lindsey: You think you've got me all figured out? You think you know everything about me?
Angel: Everything I need to know.
Lindsey: What was your father? He was a merchant, right? Linen and silk? Did pretty well? Had a couple of servants until you killed them?
Angel: Just the one.
Lindsey: Well, our files aren't 100 percent, but I guess it's fair to say that you've never seen anything like real poverty. I'm talking dirt poor - no shoes - no toilet. Six of us kids in a room, and come flu season it was down to four. I was seven when they took the house. They just came right in and took it. And my daddy is being nice, you know? Joking with the bastards while he signs the deed. Yeah, so we had a choice. Either you got stepped on or you got to stepping and I swore to myself that I was not going to be the guy standing there with the stupid grin on my face while my life got dribbled out...
Angel: I'm sorry, I nodded off. Did you get to the part where you're evil?