Blanche: Oh, I hate him. God, do I hate him. Not only did he steal my necklace, but he betrayed my trust. Oh, please, God, let him get caught. Let him go to jail. Let him rot and die in some filthy cell with the rats gnawin' at his eyes.
Dorothy: You know, when you pray, the kitchen almost becomes a chapel.
Blanche: He made me think he was attracted to me, Dorothy. He deserves the electric chair. That'd shock the smirk right off his smug limey face.
Dorothy: But, Blanche, what if he didn't steal the necklace?
Blanche: Well, then we'll probably get married.