Rick,
I have to talk to you.
I saved my first drink to
have with you, dear.
No, no
Rick, not tonight.
Especially tonight.
Why did you have to come to
Casablanca?
There are other places.
I wouldn't have come if I'd
known that you were here.
Believe me,
Rick, it's true. I didn't know.
It's funny about your voice,
how it hasn't changed. I can still hear it.
Richard,
dear, I'll go with you anyplace.
We'll get on a train together
and never stop.
Don't,
Rick.
I can understand how you feel.
You understand how I feel?
How long was it we had, honey?
I didn't count the days.
I did.
Every one of them.
Mostly, I remember the last one.
The wow finish.
A guy standing on a station platform
in the rain
with a comical look on his face because
his insides had been kicked out.
Can I tell you a story,
Rick?
You got a wow finish?
I don't know the finish yet.
Go on, tell it.
Maybe one will come to you as
you go along.
It's about a girl who had just come to
Paris from her home in
Oslo.
At the house of some friends.
She met a man about whom she
had heard her whole life.
A very great and courageous man.
He opened up for her a whole beautiful world
full of knowledge and thoughts and ideals.
Everything she knew or whatever
became was because of him.
And she looked up to him and
worshipped him.
with the feeling she supposed
was love.
Yes, it's very pretty.
I heard a story once.
As a matter of fact,
I've heard a lot of stories in my time.
They went along with the sound of a tinny piano
playing in the parlor downstairs.
Mister, I met a man once
when I was a kid.
It always began...
Well, I guess neither one of our
stories is very funny.
Tell me.
Who was it you left me for?
Was it
Laszlo or were there others in
between?
aren't you the kind that tells?
You