Curley

Curley stepped over to Lennie like a terrier. 'What the hell you laughin' at?'

Never did seem right to me. S’pose Curley jumps a big guy an’ licks him. Ever’body says what a game guy Curley is. And s’pose he does the same thing and gets licked. Then ever’body says the big guy oughtta pick somebody his own size, and maybe they gang up on the big guy. Never did seem right to me. Seems like Curley ain’t givin’ nobody a chance.

Curley’s like a lot of little guys. He hates big guys. He’s alla time picking scraps with big guys. Kind of like he’s mad at ’em because he ain’t a big guy.

he wore high–heeled boots and spurs to prove he was not a laboring man.

You got your senses in hand enough to listen?

Lennie's closed fist was lost in Lennie's big hand.

Slim jumped up. 'The dirty little rat,' he cried, 'I'll get 'um myself.'

If we could keep Curley in, we might. But Curley’s gonna want to shoot ’im. Curley’s still mad about his hand. An’ s’pose they lock him up an’ strap him down and put him in a cage. That ain’t no good, George.

“Well, that glove’s fulla vaseline.” “Vaseline? What the hell for?” “Well, I tell ya what—Curley says he’s keepin’ that hand soft for his wife.”

I think you got your han' caught in a machine. If you don't tell nobody what happened, we ain't going to. But you jus' tell an' try to get this guy canned and we'll tell ever'body, an' then will you get the laugh.