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: [Maurice is clipping Ian's toenail
] Keep still. It's not surgery. Ian
: I don't trust you. Maurice
: [clips the nail
] Got it! A palpable hit! Ian
: But where has the little fucker gone? Maurice
: Who cares? It's free now. Ian
: I can't have my home scattered with toenails. Maurice
: Oh, God. I'll have to get my other glasses. Ian
: They're around your fucking neck. Maurice
: Oh. Thank you.
[puts glasses on, begins to search
: Where's that bastard toenail? Ha! There's the little fucker!
: How's Valerie? Maurice
: Phoning my continuously with complaints. Ian
: You're her husband. Maurice
: Am I? Ian
: Yeah. You did one of your runners, if you remember. Maurice
: Did I? But I never wanted to be independent. Ian
: I love it. Maurice
: I am about to die and I know nothing about myself. Ian
: You have been loved, though, Maurice. You've been adored. Maurice
: Yes. And so have you, Ian, a little bit. Except you didn't always notice it.
: No, you can't cling to me like this, Ian, we'll both go down. Ian
: Put me on my feet then, you silly old fool! Maurice
: You're on your feet. Ian
: Oh. Yeah. Well. Thank you. Maurice
: Not at all.
[they begin dancing
: I love this horrible place. It reminds me of what I wanted to become.
: Her idea of cooking is to stick a plate of virtual sick in the microwave!
: Do I look like a fool? Do I?
: Answer me! Maurice
: Don't tempt me. I haven't had my tranquilizer yet.