Mr. Ross: Where are we, George?
George: Almost there.
Mr. Ross: This is the end of Long Island. Where's your house?
George: We go on foot from here.
Mr. Ross: All right.
George: [breaks] There's no house! It's a lie! There's no solarium. There's no Prickly Pete. There's no other solarium.
Mr. Ross: We know.
George: Then why? Why did you make me drive all the way out here? Why didn't you say something? [whimpering] Why? Why? Why?
Mrs. Ross: We don't like you, George.
Mr. Ross: And we always blamed you for what happened to Susan.
George: Oh.
Mr. Ross: All right. Let's head back.