Yer relieved o' yer duties. No need to tell me, old-timer! "Assistant slept late. Work...

Thomas Wake: Yer relieved o' yer duties. Thomas Howard: [giggles hysterically] No need to tell me, old-timer! [he goes to the other room and comes back with Wake's logbook] Thomas Howard: [reading various entries] "Assistant slept late. Work below standard. Attitude hostile. Assistant missing. Given to habitual self-abuse in supply shed. Drunk on duty. Attempted to abandon his post. Assault. Theft. Recommend severance without pay." [he throws the book at the wall in fury] Thomas Howard: SEVERANCE WITHOUT PAY? You tryin' to ruin me? I'm a hard worker. I am. I work as hard as any man. Thomas Wake: Ye lie, Thomas. Thomas Howard: Stop it! Thomas Wake: Ye lie to yerself, but y'ain't have the sauce to see it. Thomas Howard: [getting down on his knees] Please... just let me into the light, old man. I've learned so much from you. Just let me show you, another chance. Forgive and forget, I says. Just let me into that lantern, is all. Don't make me beg, or I'll beg. I'll beg, if that's what you want, I'll beg. [pleading] Thomas Howard: Please. Please, please, please! Thomas Wake: Stand down. Thomas Howard: [lurching to his feet] You selfish bastard! Keepin' it all to yourself! You left your old lady, your children, for what? For what? Thomas Wake: Look at ye, handsome lad with eyes bright as a lady. Come to this rock, playin' the tough. Ye make me laugh with yer false grum. Ye pretended to some mystery in yer quietudes, but... there ain't no mystery. Yer an open book. A picture, says I. A painted actress screamin' in the footlights, a bitch what wants to be coveted for nothin' but bein' born, cryin' 'bout the silver spoon what shoulda been yers! Now look at ye, cryin'. "Boo... boo..." What ye gonna do? Will ye kill me? Will ye? Will ye kill me like ye done that gull? Thomas Howard: I didn't! Thomas Wake: LIAR! Ye murd'rin' dog! 'Twas ye what changed the wind on us! 'Twas ye what damned us, dog, 'twas ye! Will ye do what ye wished ye'd done to ol' Winslow? Will ye best me then? For Winslow were right, Thomas! Yer a dog! A filthy dog! A DOG!