Mildred Pierce: You look down on me because I work for a living, don't you? You always have. All right, I work. I cook food and sell it and make a profit on it, which, I might point out, you're not too proud to share with me. Monte Beragon: Yes, I take money from you, Mildred. But not enough to make me like kitchens or cooks. They smell of grease. Mildred Pierce: I don't notice you shrinking away from a fifty- dollar bill because it smells of grease.