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[first lines]
Man Selling French Postcards:
[scene: a Paris street cafe] Des cartes postales, m'sieur? Des cartes postales, sir?
[Man seated with lady shoos the vendor away]
Man Selling French Postcards:
[approaching Gordon and Hector's table] Postal cards, m'sier? *Dirty* postcards?
Hector Stribling:
[turning away, disgusted] Uh!
Gordon Evers:
Charming.
[taking the cards]
Gordon Evers:
Would you like to look at them, Hector?
Hector Stribling:
Certainly not!
Gordon Evers:
How much are they?
Man Selling French Postcards:
Twenty francs.
Gordon Evers:
There you are.
Man Selling French Postcards:
Merci m'sieur. Merci.
[Gordon tears up the cards, bows to the vendor, and throws the pieces away]
Hector Stribling:
Why... why on earth did you do that?
Gordon Evers:
Who knows, it may save the soul of some American tourist.
[last lines]
Gordon Evers:
Darling, are you quite sure this isn't heaven?
Sarah Cazenove:
I'm quite sure it is.
Gordon Evers:
What do you think, Hector?
Hector Stribling:
Bless you, my children, but don't deceive yourselves. This not heaven. It's too infernally hot.
[last lines]
Gordon Evers:
Darling, are you quite sure this isn't heaven?
Sarah Cazenove:
I'm quite sure it is.
Gordon Evers:
What do you think, Hector?
Hector Stribling:
Bless you, my children, but don't deceive yourselves. This is not heaven. It's too infernally hot.复制复制成功复制失败，请手动复制
