Oh, he's a monster. Yes, I understand, sir. His pulse never got above eighty-five. Even when he ate her tongue. That is rather slippery of you, Agent Starling.
Most serial killers keep some sort of trophies from their victims.
No, you ate yours. You look like a rube. A well scrubbed, hustling rube with a little taste. Pure West Virginia. A census taker once tried to test me.