Logan Stuart:
George, when is this girl going to marry you?
George Camrose:
I doubt if she knows hereself, Logan. When are you taking me, Lucy?
Lucy Overmire:
George, do you like poetry?
George Camrose:
Must I like poetry to be your husband?
Lucy Overmire:
We'll be married when the leaves fall.
George Camrose:
You see, Logan, she strings me up and lets me swing. You mean the maple leaves that fall early, or the pine needles that never fall at all?
Riportata da il
05/03/2025 alle ore 08:27