George: You know, if it wasn't me talking, I'd say you were the prettiest girl in town.
Mary: Well, why don't you say it?
George: I don't know. Maybe I will say it. How old are you anyway?
Mary: Eighteen.
George: Eighteen! Why, it was only last year you were seventeen.
Mary: Too young or too old?
George: Oh, no. Just right. Your age fits you. Yes, sir, you look a little older without your clothes on...I mean, without a dress. You look older...I mean, younger. You look just...
[George steps on the end of the belt on Mary's bathrobe]
George: Oh-oh...
Mary: Sir, my train, please.
George: A pox upon me for a clumsy lout. [throws the belt across her arm] Your...your caboose, my lady.
Mary: You may kiss my hand.
George: Ummmm [holding her hand, George moves in closer] Hey — hey, Mary.
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