Émile: Wait a minute... you read?
R?my: Well... not excessively.
Émile: Aw, man! Does Dad know?
R?my: You could fill a book — a lot of books — with things Dad doesn't know. And they have, which is why I read. Which, is also our secret.
Émile: I don't like secrets. All this cooking and...and reading and TV-watching, while we...read and cook. It's like you're involving me in crime, and I let you. Why do I let you?
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