Tasty Mystery Baskets of Clips

Just a slight cough. I've had it for three days.
- You understand what I mean? - No.
- Lucy has a plan. - Isn't this a tragedy?
Could that be the silent, dour George?
Whenever I speak, he winces.
I think we'd better go to bed, if you don't mind.
It was all done with great tact and discretion, naturally.
May I say something rather daring?
George Emerson is simply ripping!
but he can't manage without me.
- Again. - I'm reading.
Two lone females in an unknown city, that's what I call an adventure.
I think there is something in the Italian landscape
Hmm.
the villa of my dear friend Lady Laverstock,
He has rooms he does not value and thinks you would.
- You see... - Hush, Lucy.
The smell!
Cecil read it to me.
Old Mr. Emerson's rheumatism is back, and George thinks it's too far.
- Exactly. The Miss Alans. - More like Anderson.
Alone? Is that wise, Miss Honeychurch?
"Again, poor Charlotte."
Her boiler is to be had out and the cistern cleaned and all kinds of to-doing.
Easy live and quiet die
No. I know I'm a spoilsport, but it would make me wretched.
You think I ought to have accepted? You think I have been narrow-minded.
A most remarkable father and son.
Mother's right. Those people Charlotte and I met at the pensione,
And I divine it, Charlotte. You had an adventure there.
Giotto scolaro di Cimabue. Kept the sheep on the mountain.
Oh, I... Oh!
You don't. It's only as something else.
He's saying his creed.
- Give it here. - No, it's the silliest thing.
- Why need Mother hear of it? - Well, you tell her everything. Don't you?
Miss Honeychurch, your brother has told me.
To mess about with typewriters and latchkeys and call it work.
sakit hati
Don't you agree that, on one's first visit to Florence, one must have a room with a view?
see the little towns, Gubbio, Settignano, Galuzzo,
One would hate to break it.
- Signora? - No, thank you.
Vain to deny it.
- I've brought someone to see you. - One minute.
- I will sit here. - Nonsense.
- Good afternoon. - How do you do, Mr. Beebe?
Look at that adorable wine cart. How he stares at us, dear simple soul!
- We met at Tunbridge Wells. - That very cold Easter.
I put it down to too much Beethoven.
And, if you want to know, Teresa, she lacked... radiance.
And... I did think you loved me.
unconscious of anything outside Baedeker, anxious to get done and go on elsewhere.
Then she will be wonderful in both.
Go for her. Get her round the shins.
They trust me.
Dove Mr. Beebe?
He's declaring the eternal yes.
A true Florentine smell. Inhale, my dear.