[Martha is sipping another martini. Dead Danny has been removed from the livingroom and stuffed in the laundry-room. Martha has begun another one of her bitch rants, denigrating her poor husband, George]
Martha: A drowning man takes down those nearest.
George: A drowning woman just screams and sinks.
Martha: Sometimes she takes her son and husband with her. One big happy family, as they say.
George: It worked with the Titanic. It won’t with me.
[Martha has changed again. This time into a lovey puce kimono with simply fabulous pink flamingos mincing about ever so delicately and demurely on a rather kitschy Trailer Park’s trashy lawn]
George: Forget it, Martha. You can sit around with the gin running out of your mouth; you can humiliate me all you want; you can read my beads all night, that's perfectly okay, that's all right with me.
Martha: You can stand it!
George: As long as you’ve got money in the bank.
Martha: You can stand it, you married me for it!
Nick: May I use the... uh... bar?
George: Oh, yes... yes... by all means. Drink away... you'll need it as the years go on.
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