Virgil: In my 36 years in this business, never has anyone had the gall to keep me waiting 40 minutes in the rain. It's a disgrace. A display of bad manners.
Claire: Please let me explain. I tried to call your office . . .
Virgil: Be quiet, there's no excuse.
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Virgil: It's a fake.
Client: How is that possible? It's beautiful!
Virgil: I didn't say it wasn't. I said it wasn't authentic.
Art Expert: From an analysis of the pigments and wood, we thought it was pre-17th century.
Virgil: Even older, if that matters.
Client: Then it must be worth something.
Virgil: It is a work by Valiante, the celebrated female forger of the 16th century. She copied the masterpieces of her day, but she couldn't sign them because she was a woman, so she marked them with a personal code hidden in the folds of the drapery or in the present case, in the gaze of the subject . . . The beam of light on the iris is nothing if not a “V”, that is Valiante.
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Robert: You don't seem too pleased, and yet we're almost there. Our automaton is about to emerge from the shadows.
Virgil: No, I'm delighted. You're a force of nature. It's just that . . . this is one of those evenings when one feels like this contraption here . . . incomplete.
Robert: Why did you never marry? You know, never have kids?
Virgil: The regard I have for women is equal to the fear I've always had of them . . . and to my failure to understand them.
Robert: Well, it that’s the rule then Miss Ibbetson gives every impression of being the exception.