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Anne 1

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Anne 2

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Anne 3

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Script: Part 2

SCENE: New York

GILBERT: Well, this is it: Winfield Publishing. Donít be nervous; youíll be fine.

ANNE: Itís unbearable to have insignificance ingrained into your very soul. No, Mr. Winfield is likely to reject my manuscript just like every other publisher Iíve been to this week.

GILBERT: This is a much smaller company, and I doubt that he brought you in for a meeting just to say no. [seeing Dr. Powell] ĎMorning, sir.

ANNE: Iíve made up my mind to go to my grave unwept, unhonored, and unsung.

GILBERT: But not unpublished. Iíd like you to meet my fiancťe, Anne Shirley. This is Dr. Powell.

DR. POWELL: An honor, Miss Shirley.

ANNE: I very much appreciate the opportunity here, sir.

DR. POWELL: Ah, your book is marvelous. Iíve just seen old Winfield. He assures me heíll consider it. The least I can do for the fiancťe of our most important young surgeon, eh? [Anne begins to leave] Donít settle for anything less than 10% royalties from the old tyrant.

SCENE: Winfield Publishers

ANNE: Excuse me, I have an appointment to see a Mr. Palmer Winfield.


ANNE: Miss Anne Shirley.

WINFIELD RECEPTIONIST: [on phone] Thereís a Miss Shirley to see Mr. Winfield. [to Anne] Those stairs to the sixth.

ANNE: Thank you.

SCENE: Mr. Winfieldís office

MR. WINFIELD: Ah, Miss Shirley.

ANNE: Hello.

MR. OWEN: Sit down, if you will.

ANNE: Itís a lot of stairs. How do you do, sir?

MR. WINFIELD: Oh, miserably. Book sales are in a detestable slump. The overhead of this organization is a can of worms. This is Mr. Owen, in charge of our fiction department.

ANNE: Well, thank you both so much for taking the time to meet with me and--

MR. WINFIELD: Thank Dr. Powell. He cut a tumor out of me once, thereby prolonging my unfortunate existence. Perhaps you should get down to the short strokes, hmm, Miss Shirley?

MR. OWEN: Weíve read the manuscript Dr. Powell submitted. Lively and engaging, I suppose.

MR. WINFIELD: Yes, you have some promise as a writer. But not here. I run a business, not a charity.

MR. OWEN: Weíve never published stories for young women. Our specialty is adventures, detective novels, and all manner of books for a manís man.

MR. WINFIELD: However, since men are not buying so many books now with the war on, we really would like to develop womenís adventures. Wanted to for years. We need someone to apprehend writers and stories that will appeal to women.

ANNE: Well, I can guarantee you: I can smell a good book before I even open the cover.

MR. WINFIELD: Yes, well Mr. Owen is prepared to train you in the position of a junior editor.

MR. OWEN: The process of finding material, however, is very subjective.

ANNE: Well, I can find writers that women will want to read. As long as it doesnít preclude me from submitting my own manuscripts amongst them.

MR. OWEN: Well, Miss Shirley, they would have to meet our criteria.

ANNE: And what is that?

MR. WINFIELD: Iíve never published anything I didnít like. That served me well for 40 years.

ANNE: Well, youíll like what I find, sir, as much as youíll grow to have faith in me.

MR. OWEN: Iíll find a small corner for Miss Shirley to work in, sir.

SCENE: Winfield Publishers main room

MR. OWEN: Come along, Miss Shirley. There ought to be a desk under all of that somewhere. Our research department will find you lists. Do what you can. My office is right there. Miss Shirley, please.

ANNE: Oh, Iím sorry. I was just taking it all in.

MR. OWEN: Well, that is a portrait of Jack Garrison, Jr., Americaís top mystery raconteur. A half million copies of his espionage novels guaranteed before he puts pen to paper. Youíll have to find men who can write that way for women, or youíll be wasting your time.

ANNE: Mr. Owen, I rarely waste my time. Besides, if I thought only men can write for women, I might not find anything interesting.

MR. OWEN: Yes, well, I should mention to you that we have never published a female author. Ever.

SCENE: Bellevue Hospital operating room

DR. POWELL: Blast!

GILBERT: Allow me, Doctor.

DR. POWELL: All right. Finish up, Gil. I want you in the board meeting in half an hour.

SCENE: Bellevue Hospital boardroom

DR. POWELL: Certainly, I no longer have the fortitude to continue serve this institution in light of my deteriorating eyesight. [Gil enters] Ah. This young fellow is the foremost surgeon in his class, and I might add in the entire institution. Heís been asked to stay on till the end of the year, but he has the talent and stamina to assume my duties as a permanent member of the administration within the month.

SCENE: Bellevue Hospital corridor

GILBERT: Sir, I am very flattered. I just wish you hadnít launched this without discussing with me first.

DR. POWELL: I needed to know where the board stood. I canít operate anymore, you know, lad. The prognosis for glaucoma is abysmal. Youíll want to rise to the occasion and follow in my footsteps.

MRS. TWEED: Dr. Blythe! Dr. Blythe!

MR. TWEED: I donít know if you remember my wife--

GILBERT: Of course.

MR. TWEED: Weíve been waiting eight hours for anyone to see us.

DR. POWELL: The admitting nurse should assist you.

GILBERT: Mrs. Tweed, has your baby not turned?

MRS. TWEED: Somethingís not right.

GILBERT: Come on, letís sit down.

CHILD: Mom, maybe you should walk.

GILBERT: Are you having rapid contractions?

CHILD: Are you okay?

GILBERT: Mrs. Cunningham, this woman is in labor. See that she be admitted immediately. She may require surgery.

DR. POWELL: You neednít concern yourself with indigent cases. Let me speak to Dr. Moore in obstetrics.

GILBERT: Oh, I can speak Moore. But, sir, I am obligated to this patient, by virtue of having examined her in the clinic a week ago, at which time I requested that she be admitted into the hospital. The delivery may be a footling breech. If she continues in labor any longer she may lose the child.

DR. POWELL: Choose where you use your scalpel. Remember, weíve scheduled Mrs. Hamilton this afternoon. You just met her husband, on the board.

GILBERT: I canít let her condition go unsupervised. We can reschedule Mrs. Hamiltonís gallbladder operation. Excuse me.

SCENE: Bellevue Hospital waiting room

ANNE: Dr. Blythe?

NURSE: Oh, he canít be disturbed. Please, take a seat in the waiting area, maíam.

GILBERT: Mr. Tweed? Your wife is in stable condition, but there was a problem with the babyís cord. We did everything we could, but Iím afraid it was too late.

MR. TWEED: Too late? We waited and waited!

GILBERT: Iím so sorry.

MR. TWEED: You heedless--!

DR. POWELL: Take this man out onto the street!

DOCTORS: Come on. Stop it! Come on you three!

MR. TWEED: You call yourselves doctors!

ANNE: What happened Gil?

GILBERT: Lost the baby.

DR. POWELL: A word with you, lad.

SCENE: Bellevue Hospital terrace

DR. POWELL: Youíll get used to this, if youíre to spend your lives together. The woman came to us too late.

GILBERT: She should have been hospitalized a week ago.

DR. POWELL: [to Anne] Excuse us. [to Gil] This is part of your lot as a surgeon. There are some you can afford to save, and some who--. This is a large institution. Youíre what I was 30 years ago, Gil. Think! Think of the potential you have, the lives you should save, huh? [to Anne] Oh, take him home, woman. Give him a good stiff drink of whiskey.

SCENE: New York park

ANNE: I feel like weíve been walking in circles.

GILBERT: You canít expect life to be normal here, Anne.

ANNE: I knew that when I agreed to come. Thatís why I wanted you to promise me that someday weíd go home to raise our family. I donít think I can walk anymore without something to eat, Gil.

GILBERT: Iím sorry. Iíll take you for a fine meal somewhere.

ANNE: A wiener in a bun would be fine.

GILBERT: You know, I forgot to ask you how things went for you this morning. [to vendor] Two, please.

VENDOR: Mm-hmm.

ANNE: Well, they offered me an important editorial position.

GILBERT: Dr. Powell assured me that they were interested in publishing you.

VENDOR: Here you go, sir.

ANNE: Can I have two for me, sir?

VENDOR: Yes, maíam.

GILBERT: Youíve got to continue your own writing, not working on someone elseís material.

ANNE: Itís all right. I really want this job. I intend to have Winfield publish a book of mine if itís the last thing I do.

SCENE: Winfield Publishers main room

ANNE: [testing book titles] Forever and Forever. Always Forever. Now and Forever. Forever into Eternity, by Anne Blythe. By Anne Shirley. Forever into Eternity.

JACK: Youíll jinx yourself with insipid titles like that, Miss Shirley. Oh, donít be embarrassed; half the people in this building are writing books on their lunch hour.

ANNE: You are--. Arenít you?

JACK: Jack Garrison.

ANNE: Itís a pleasure to meet you. All Mr. Owen ever talks about is your latest manuscript. A real page-turner, according to him.

JACK: Yeah, thatís one way of putting it, seeing he hasnít even seen it yet. Will you pass this material on to Mr. Owen? Itís the story outline of my latest book, according to the terms of my contract.

ANNE: Certainly.

JACK: My lawyer will be following up before I go to draft. You know, I have a few moments. Why donít you tell me about your story? Maybe I can help you come up with a decent title.

ANNE: Well, um, I havenít finished it yet. I was hoping, if I came up with a really gripping title, it might tweak further ideas.

JACK: Oh, no, no, no. Youíre going about it all topsy-turvy. You must absolutely always start with a firm premise and a solid ending.

ANNE: Well, actually, I do have that. Itís the story of a young teacher, a missionary, set in the Himalayas, who tames the heart of a British colonel.

JACK: [laughs] Oh, please. I donít mean to laugh, but youíve got better ham in your sandwich.

ANNE: Well, Iíve been reading all of your works. They tell me they want to find the female bookend to you.

JACK: But Iím also condemned as a hack in any literary circle. Aim much higher, creatively, if you want my opinion, Miss Shirley.

MR. OWEN: Mr. Garrisonís father was the top writer for firm for years before he died, Miss Shirley. Luckily, young Mr. Garrison has followed in his fatherís success.

JACK: No, true success requires passion and a vision, not just dollars and cents, Mr. Owen. [Mr. Owen clears his throat] Delightful as it has been, Miss Shirley. I do hope we get to do this again. Good day.

ANNE: Good day.

JACK: Good luck.

ANNE: This is the story outline according to the terms of his contract. He said you will hear from his lawyers shortly.

GILBERT: Yes, Iím sure that I will. Thank you.

SCENE: The next day. Anne rifles through her desk.

MR. OWEN: Why the long face, Miss Shirley?

ANNE: Uh, this is very frustrating. I misplaced something yesterday. Itís nothing, really.

MR. OWEN: Well, you better put a smile on. Mr. Winfield wants you up in his office, immediately. Iíll be along in a minute.

SCENE: Mr. Winfieldís office

MR. WINFIELD: [leafing through Garrisonís manuscript] Yuck. Apparently, Jack Garrison has taken quite a liking to you Miss Shirley. Oh, donít ask me what sort of antics heís up to now, but, uh, apparently his lawyers have requested that you -- and only you -- act as his editor for his new book. So, weíd like you to read the material and meet with him to discuss it. Hmmm?

ANNE: Iíve never edited anyoneís book other than my own. Isnít there someone with more experience?

MR. WINFIELD: No, not really. And besides, the materialís unpublishable, at least by this firm. So, we want you to meet with him, humor him, but by all means make clear to him in no uncertain terms that unless heís prepared to deliver us a new adventure plot instead of this intellectual, political manifesto, Iím going to drop him as an author. Full stop. Not another word. Do we understand each other?

ANNE: Isnít that rather drastic, sir?

MR. WINFIELD: This [handing her a paper] will clearly articulate our position.

ANNE: Are you sure I should be the one delivering this message?

MR. WINFIELD: Oh, yes. Mr. Owen agrees that this is the best way to keep the situationÖ cheerful. So, off you go. And remember: we want adventure, not art. And, by the way, donít you let him lay a finger on you.

MR. OWEN: We go through this ridiculous dance every year, Miss Shirley. He believes heís writing the great American classic or some such nonsense.

ANNE: [nods] Goodnight.

MR. OWEN: And you are a valued employee, Miss Shirley.

SCENE: Lobby of Garrisonís apartment building

ANNE: Could you please ring Mr. Jack Garrisonís room? Tell him that Miss Shirley is here to meet himÖ in the lobby.

CONCIERGE: Right away, miss. [on phone] Mr. Garrisonís room, please. Hello, Mr. Garrison. Thereís a Miss Shirley here at the deskÖ to meet you. Oh! Why, yes, sir. As you wish, sir. [hangs up phone] Mr. Garrison is indisposed at the moment. He wants you to go up and wait. Heíll only be a few more minutes.

ANNE: Iíd prefer to wait here, in the lobby.

CONCIERGE: Uh, he said he wasnít coming down. Itís the third floor, suite 308.

SCENE: Outside Garrisonís room

ANNE: Oh, dear. Iíve disturbed you, Mr. Garrison. I was told you were expecting me.

JACK: No need to apologize; itís entirely my fault. I, uh. I dozed off. Why donít you come on inside and you can give me Winfieldís notesÖ and your own notes.

ANNE: Iíll wait out here in the hall, sir, while you read the letter.

JACK: It would be rude of me to leave you in the hallway. Please. [he pulls her into the room]

SCENE: Jack Garrisonís room

JACK: That manipulative, old, desperate--. What were his exact words, again?

ANNE: I heard him say if you didnít deliver another adventure instead of this political piece, youíd be dropped by Winfield publishing. Full stop.

JACK: Iíve spent the better part of the bloody advance.

ANNE: Well, it seems to me that one more book off the top of your head is better than getting involved with some legal wrangle, especially if they force you to give back such a large advance.

JACK: I just donít have it in me. One more leads to one more leads to one--.

ANNE: This current piece is genius, sir. But how could they possibly publish a chronicle on the poverty-stricken in Mexico living in the wake of Teddy Rooseveltís Rough Riders?

JACK: They can sell a telephone book with my name and the right cover. Books are packaged goods to them.

ANNE: [backing up] Sales are down because of the war. Your reading public is diminishing. I could make up some excuse for you, if you more time to reflect.

JACK: No, donít! Donít go! Donít! Donít! I have a proposition for us. Please, sit down.

ANNE: Mr. Garrison--.

JACK: Look. I haphazardly picked this up yesterdayÖ when we met. Iím sorry. I hope you donít mind, but I read it. And I have to tell you how often I laughedÖ and cried. You make me want to quit writing the junk I write for good.

ANNE: I was looking everywhere for this.

JACK: I was moved despite myself. Once in a lifetime you meet someone who you consider is the kind ofÖ creative individual that you wish you-- no, I wish I could be. [he bends to kiss her hand, but she pulls away]

ANNE: Thank you, Mr. Garrison. The compliment is a welcome tonic for someone who has never received the kind of success you have. I suggest you decide what you want to do and get back to me--Mr. Winfield. [she turns to leave]

JACK: Wait! Wait! I havenít finished. Wait!

SCENE: Outside Jack Garrisonís apartment building

JACK: Miss Shirley, wait! If you donít listen, Iíll jump. Iíll throw myself at your feet.

ANNE: Youíre drunk. Besides, people who do it never talk about it first. [he moves to jump] NO, DONíT! Mr. Garrison, whatever it is, your book is not a matter of life or death.

JACK: But, if what Winfield wants is the next female bestseller, itís you.

ANNE: [chuckles] I would have to submit it under a pseudonym likeÖ likeÖ

JACK: Let me submit the manuscriptÖ under both our names.

ANNE: Youíre insane. Goodnight.

JACK: Iíll jump, unless you agree.

ANNE: No, you wonít. No, you wonít. No, donít. NO, DONíT! DONíT! Mr. Garrison, please!

JACK: Anne, you have talent, and I need a book. Iíll guarantee you it gets published, if you let me handle the whole thing with Winfield. Besides, itís a wonderful book. It will free from the final specter of the Winfields once and for all, and get you the reading public you so richly deserve. The honor would be entirely mine.

ANNE: It will take me forever to finish the book. Thatís only my first draft.

JACK: Let me be your editor and weíll submit it within a month. [he kisses her hand]

ANNE: Alright. Iíll finish this draft and send it to you. Goodnight, Mr. Garrison.

SCENE: Outside Bellevue Hospital

ANNE: Iím in trouble. I need help.

GILBERT: Well, it is probably the most absurd scheme youíve ever attempted.

ANNE: Thanks for your vote of confidence, Gilbert Blythe. This chance is once in a lifetime.

GILBERT: Yeah. Anne, what successful writer has ever written with a pinch hitter?

ANNE: All writers have editors. I gave him my new draft. What if he doesnít like it? And now Iíve been invited to a reception at his familyís estate. I feel like a lamb being led to the slaughter. No, donít desert me, please.

GILBERT: Take a deep breath. Believe in your own ability.

ANNE: [breathes, chuckles] Mrs. Lynde did say I have the nerve of a canal horse.

GILBERT: Iím looking forward to meeting this Garrison phenomenon.

SCENE: Garrisonís estate

ANNE: [to Gilbert] Thank you.

KIT GARRISON: You know, I trot Jack out whenever I want to attract a crowd. We raised $2000 for my hospital overseas for war orphans. If we Americans join the Allies at war with the same kind of enthusiasm, weíll put an end to the blessedness. I understand the book you and Jack are collaborating on concerns an orphan.

ANNE: Yes.

KIT GARRISON: When itís reviewed, Iíd like to host a charity ball from Manoir, using the novel as the theme.

ANNE: I canít imagine my book as a setting for a charity fundraiser.

JACK: You must be Dr. Blythe.

GILBERT: Mr. Garrison. How do you do? Iíve been looking forward to meeting--

JACK: The subject of such devotion. You are fortunate to hold this young womanís intense esteem and adoration. A writer is often only married to the art of language. I predict enormous happiness for you both.

GILBERT: Well, uh, thank you.

JACK: Anne. Aunt Kitt, Dr. Blythe is one of the senior staff members at Bellevue.


JACK: We have a number of guests here involved in fundraising Iím sure youíd like to meet. Miss Shirley and I have a bit of business to complicate things.

KIT GARRISON: My nephewís quite taken with your fiancť.

GILBERT: Well, Anne isnít easily influenced when it comes to her writing. I donít think he understands what heís up against.

SCENE: Elsewhere on the Garrison estate

JACK: [throwing the manuscript down] Itís god-awful. Itís just not good enough.

ANNE: I beg your pardon?

JACK: You changed everything that was genuine, all the innocence. I donít know what happened, but you better burn this.

ANNE: Burn this?

JACK: Start over.

ANNE: Iím trying to write the way you wanted me to. Iíve exhausted myself making this work.

JACK: Well, if you donít want to keep at it, go back and teach. I can smell when something isnít working. You wanted to be considered a serious writer, thatís why Iím helping you.

ANNE: No, thatís why Iím helping you.

JACK: Anne, you have the gift of human insight. When I try to do better, I fail miserably. Stop trying to write a bestseller.

ANNE: Youíre the one who suggested this. I came to your for help. Mr. GarrisonÖ

JACK: All right, this entire gamut was a terrible idea. Either you quit crying about it or go back to the drawing board. [Anne leaves]

SCENE: Anneís apartment

JACK: [knocks on door] Anne. Anne, itís Jack. I know youíre in there. I know my comments were a bit disparaging. I admit. [she slides the manuscript under the door] Thank you.

SCENE: Winfield Publishers

MR. OWEN: Ah, Mr. Garrison. Iím certainly looking forward to your next draft. Iím sorry, Miss Shirleyís at lunch. May I leave a message? [Jack leaves the manuscript on her desk]

SCENE: Anneís apartment

GILBERT: Jack Garrisonís notes seem to be pretty amusing. You know, no one can tell you how to write.

ANNE: Jackís not telling me how to write, heís commenting.

GILBERT: Well, youíve been published before; why do you need him?

ANNE: My first book was small, and not widely read. Donít worry. Heís turned out to be a pretty good coach, really.

GILBERT: Oh. Goodnight. Iím heading back to my place.

SCENE: Bellevue Hospital operating room

GILBERT: This is clearly malignant. I prefer to let him have the use of his limbs for what little time he has left. Stitch him back up.

DOCTOR: No, I think we can successfully remove it.

GILBERT: Itís highly unlikely.

DOCTOR: You canít discontinue without some benefit to this class.

GILBERT: Put it on record that I have declined to continue for the safety of the patient. [he walks out]

SCENE: Bellevue Hospital hallway

DR. POWELL: Dr. Blythe, get back in there! For the sake of the residents in the gallery who aspire to be you.

GILBERT: Iím not about to perform just to enhance the prestige of this institution. Iím sorry.

SCENE: Outside Bellevue hospital

ANNE: Gil!

GILBERT: The politics of this organization are more than I ever bargained for.

ANNE: Sorry. It doesnít seem right that I should be so excited then. I want you to read it.

GILBERT: Youíre done.

ANNE: Weíre submitting it tomorrow.

SCENE: A park

GILBERT: Itís the best of everything youíve ever written.

ANNE: YES! Are you certain?

GILBERT: So much so that I have no idea why you are going to allow him to put his name on it alongside yours.

ANNE: Because I couldnít have done it without him. And you, too.

GILBERT: Oh, can I put my name on it, too?

ANNE: What if this is the only chance I ever have of getting it published?

GILBERT: Donít sell yourself short.

ANNE: Iím not. Jack is submitting it tomorrow under both our names.

GILBERT: Okay. I canít stop you. I just think you deserve a proper credit.

SCENE: Winfield Publishers

MR. OWEN: Miss Shirley, Mr. Winfield would like to see us both in his office right away. Send those galleys to the top five distributors now, listen, and those demonstration covers as well, please.

ANNE: What?

MR. OWEN: Oh, thatís the cover of Jackís latest. Itís sensational, isnít it? The book is a complete departure. Heís written it just for women. You did well in coercing him. Mr. Winfield feels weíve hit pay dirt on this one.

ANNE: Mr. Owen, this is my book.

MR. OWEN: Oh, and send a personal note from me as senior editor, please. Thank you very much. Come along, Miss Shirley.

ANNE: This is my original work. This is my--. This is my book.

MR. OWEN: Now, weíd all like to take credit for a job well done, but letís not be absurd.

SCENE: Mr. Winfieldís office

MR. WINFIELD: Iíve asked you both here at the request of Mr. Garrison and his legal council, Mr. Chambers.

MR. CHAMBERS: How do you do?

MR. WINFIELD: Here, now. The finest novel Mr. Garrison ever penned. Donít you agree, Owen?

MR. OWEN: Sir.

MR. WINFIELD: However, Mr. Garrison asserts that he co-wrote it along with you, Miss Shirley.

ANNE: Mr. Garrison and I havenít had the opportunity to re-discuss credit, but it is my original work, yes.

MR. WINFIELD: Unfortunately, co-authorships donít sell. Your name would denigrate the promotability of Mr. Garrisonís.

MR. CHAMBERS: In any event, we want out of this contract. Jack has nothing else to deliver and he has other professional interests he wants to pursue.

MR. OWEN: I sincerely doubt Miss Shirleyís claims, sir. She just hasnít the experience.

MR. WINFIELD: Well, since your client is so anxious to be relieved of his contract, his provisions obligate us no further than Jackís credit.

ANNE: But, Mr. Winfield. I pretty much wrote every word.

MR. WINFIELD: Really? Well, if thatís the case, you, my dear, are a terrible opportunist.

ANNE: I wrote this book, and donít you dare think of publishing these galleys or anything else of mine, or Iíll see you in court.

MR. WINFIELD: He submitted it. His name goes on it.

MR. CHAMBERS: Good day, sir.

MR. WINFIELD: Yes, good day to you.

SCENE: Street

JACK: Anne.

ANNE: You hypocrite, swindler.

JACK: What?

ANNE: What did you call this business? Packaged goods? Youíre all nothing better than a bunch of pirates!

MR. CHAMBERS: Bad news: heís going to publish it with all of your credit. Good news: youíre out of your contract.

JACK: Anne! Anne, wait! He canít publish it; I wonít allow it. Youíre making a big mistake.

ANNE: The only mistake I made was seeing stars in my eyes when I agreed to this charade.

JACK: Yes, it was a charade. I wanted to work with you. I admire you. I love you. [Anne slaps him]

SCENE: Anneís apartment

ANNE: There. If it never gets published, at least Iíve preserved some dignity.

GILBERT: I just donít know what to tell you.

ANNE: Nothing. I have to ask myself, how could I have been so naÔve?

GILBERT: Because youíre always going off so impulsively, trying to be someone other than yourself. But I love you for all your unpredictability.

ANNE: When I said that Iíd get used to here, I meant it. I wonít let you down. Iíll find something else.

GILBERT: Anne, youíre never going to find another job in any publishing company in New York once this gets out.

ANNE: Whatís so blessed funny?

GILBERT: Oh, come on, Anne. This is not the end of the world. Iím never going to be the renowned physician theyíd like to make of me at Bellevue. Iím happy being a good doctor. Thatís all. Letís go home.

ANNE: Really? [Gilbert nods]

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