(Mathilda has entered Stansfield's office building by faking a food delivery; Stansfield has cornered her in a restroom.)
Stansfield: Special delivery, huh? Let me guess. Chinese? Thai, maybe? I've got it -- Italian food. What's your name, angel?
Mathilda: Mathilda.
Stansfield: Mathilda, I want you to set the sack on the floor. Good. (He draws a pistol.) And now, I want you to tell me everything you know about Italian food... and don't forget the name of the chef who fixed it for me.
Mathilda: Nobody sent me. I do business for myself.
Stansfield: So, th-th-this, this is something personal, is it? What filthy piece of shit... did I do now?
Mathilda: You killed my brother.
Stansfield: I'm sorry. (he moves in close to Mathilda.) And -- you wanna join him?
Mathilda: No.
Stansfield: It's always the same thing. It's when you start to become really afraid of death that you learn to appreciate life. Do you like life, sweetheart?
Mathilda (whispering): Yes.
Stansfield: That's good -- because I take no pleasure in taking a life if it's from a person who doesn't care about it.
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