George:
Nag, nag! Nagging bitch! That's all you are. All you care about is your gossip. Your nag, nag, chitter-chatter - - That's your only aim in life.
Marion Fairweather:
Poor George. Poor George. It was bound to end like this. He's gone completely off his rocker because of that tart.
George:
Say that again.
Marion Fairweather:
Tart! She's a tart! One has only to look at you to see that she'd go to bed with anything in trousers.
George:
The tart, as you call her, happens to be my wife.
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05/03/2025 alle ore 07:35
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