I don't know about that. Bye, Mrs. Lowe

Hondo Lane:

Destarti. You remind me of her some. Angie Lowe:
Of an Indian girl? Was she fair? Hondo Lane:
Her hair was black as ten feet down. Did you ever see a crow's wing, how black and gleaming it is? Angie Lowe:
Yes. Hondo Lane:
That's the way her hair shined. I'd like to pay you for that rope. Ridin' dispatch, I have the right to give you a script. Angie Lowe:
You loved her? Hondo Lane:
I don't know. I needed her. Angie Lowe:
But if she was dark and I'm fair... Hondo Lane:
Why you reminded me of her? Angie Lowe:
Yes Hondo Lane:
I don't know. I've thought about it. You don't look anything like her. Angie Lowe:
I am fully aware that I am a homely woman, Mr. Lane. Hondo Lane:
I didn't mean that. I got a bad habit of tellin' the truth, but being pretty isn't much. I know a lot of pretty people I wouldn't trust with a busted nickle-plated watch. But some others, somethin' comes outa the inside of 'em and you know you can trust 'em. Destarti had that. And you've got it too. [he kisses her] Angie Lowe:
I'm a married woman. Hondo Lane:
I thought about that, too. I guess I kissed you because you remind me of Destarti. Or maybe it's because I hate to think of your hair hangin' from the center pole of an Apache wickiup. But a long time ago, I made me a rule. I let people do what they want to do. Angie Lowe:
You're a strange man, Mr. Lane. Hondo Lane:
I don't know about that. Bye, Mrs. Lowe