Celia Rudbeck: Perhaps you could clean your teeth tonight having taken the pipe out of your mouth - that would be a change.
Harry Rudbeck: I'm sorry, Celia.
Celia Rudbeck: Sorry about what?
Harry Rudbeck: I'm sorry about all of this.
Celia Rudbeck: Are you? You don't do anything about it.
Harry Rudbeck: Do? Well, what can I do? I'm in bloody West Africa. In the bloody bush. This isn't Mayfair, you know!
Celia Rudbeck: You don't have to tell me that. What about that horrible peanut soup? Peanut soup! Any idiot can make vegetable soup - even in bloody West Africa.
Harry Rudbeck: Why don't you tell Jamesu what you want to eat? He's not a chef at the Ritz.
Celia Rudbeck: Alright!
Harry Rudbeck: Dammit! You can go back home if you think you've made a mistake.
Celia Rudbeck: What mistake?
Harry Rudbeck: Marrying me. I know you think I'm a clod because I read Edgar Wallace instead of Jane Austin and I can't tell 'God Save the King' from the... the Marriage of bloody Figaro.
