A master auctioneer becomes obsessed with an extremely reclusive heiress who collects fine art.

Billy Whistler: I wouldn't be so sure if I were you. Human emotions are like works of art. They can be forged. They seem just like the original, but they are a forgery.
Virgil Oldman: Forgery?
Billy Whistler: Everything can be faked, Virgil. Joy, pain, hate... illness, recovery. Even love.
Virgil Oldman: What's it like living with a woman?
Lambert: Like taking part in an auction sale. You never know if yours will be the best offer.
Claire: In an old article of yours I found on the internet, you said: There's something authentic in every forgery. What did you mean?
Virgil Oldman: When simulating another's work the forger can't resist the temptation to put in something of himself. Often it's just a trifle, a detail of no interest. One unsuspected stroke, by which the forger inevitably ends up betraying himself, and revealing his own utterly authentic sensibilities.
Virgil Oldman: [Inspecting a painting] It's a fake.
First daughter: How is that possible? It's beautiful!
Virgil Oldman: I didn't say it was ugly, I said it wasn't authentic.
Robert: Why did you never marry, never have kids?
Virgil Oldman: The regard I have for women is equal to the fear I've always had of them. And to my failure to understand them.
Robert: [his voice through the robot] There is always something authentic concealed in every forgery. I couldn't agree more. That's why I'll miss you, Mr. Oldman.
[last lines]
Waiter: Are you on your own, sir?
Virgil Oldman: No, I'm waiting for someone.
Claire: I'm not in the habit of speaking to people very much.
Virgil Oldman: Believe me, that's considerable stroke of good fortune. Talking to people is extremely perilous. However, it was you who made the call, so you're running the risk.

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