Can't believe we have to speak this stupid language.
We've got to keep a low profile.
And why do we have to move, anyway?
Please be quiet, Mistress Ingrid, I'm trying to read the map.
Don't tell me to be quiet, insect biter!
Right, that is it!
Don't you touch me, you fungus!
Rat!
Creep!
Witch!
Pus-face!
Turn right!
Cold sewer!
Cretin.
Freak! Fart-breath!
Spider-licker!
Scab picker!
Snot eater!
RENFIELD! What... exactly... is going on?
Sorry... for disturbing you, Master...
Silence!
Ingrid wants to turn the hearse around and go back to Transylvania.
Oh, you do, do you? And what about the angry, torch-wielding Transylvanian peasant mob, hmm? Would you like to go back to them, too?
(Cuts to scenes of individual peasants in the mob. Cuts back to the Count, who shudders)
Yeah, well, better going back to Transylvania to face them than living in this dump. I mean, look at it. It's so... normal.
Normal. That's just what I was thinking.
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