— We can't get married at all.
— Why not?
— Well, in the first place, I'm not a natural blonde.
— Doesn't matter.
— I smoke. I smoke all the time.
— I don't care.
— Well, I have a terrible past. For three years now, I've been living with a saxophone player.
— I forgive you.
— I can never have children.
— We can adopt some.
— But you don't understand, Osgood. Uh, I'm a man.
— Well, nobody's perfect.
— Shut up.
— I didn't say anything.
— You were thinking. It's annoying.
— I will burn the heart out of you.
— I have been reliably informed that I don't have one.
— Why is the rum gone?
— One, because it is a vile drink that turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels. Two, that signal is over a thousand feet high. The entire Royal Navy is out looking for me. Do you really think that there is even the slightest chance — that they won't see it?
— But why is the rum gone?
— This dock is off limits to civilians.
— I'm terribly sorry. I didn't know. If I see one, I shall inform you immediately.
What now? I'm in shock — look, I've got a blancket. And I just caught you a serial killer.
