On the joys of marriage and fire breathing dragons...
The Major: Going to have a flutter, Fawlty
Basil: No-o, no, no...
Sybil: No, Basil doesn't bet any more, Major, do you, dear?
Basil: No, dear, I don't. No, that particular avenue of pleasure has been closed off.
Sybil: (quietish) And we don't want it opened up again, do we, Basil? (she goes into the office)
Basil: No, you don't dear, no. The Great Warning-Off of May the 8th. Good old St George, eh, Major?
The Major: Hmmmm.
Basil: He killed a hideous fire-breathing old dragon, didn't he, Polly?
Polly: Ran it through with a lance, I believe.
Manuel: (running in) Mr Fawlty, Mr Fawlty. Is Mrs... er... room, no like... she want speak to you, is problem.
Basil: (moving off) Ever see my wife making toast Polly? (he mimes breathing on both sides of a slice of bread)
The Major: Why did he kill it, anyway, Fawlty?
Basil: I don't know Major. Better than marrying it (he follows Manuel upstairs)
The Major: Marrying it? Bue didn't have to kill it though, did he? I mean, he could have just not turned up at the church.
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