Bernard: How's it going, Lyds? Lydia: Bloody awful. Bernard: Oh dear, what's the problem? Lydia: I was promised sex. Everybody said it. You'll be a bridesmaid, you'll get sex, you'll be fighting 'em off. But not so much as a tongue in sight. Bernard: Well, I mean, if you fancy anything, I could always... Lydia: Oh, don't be ridiculous, Bernard. I'm not that desperate.
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