EXT. THE DESERT. DAY.
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KATHARINE sits in the car, putting her pictures into the Herodotus. It's full of ALMÁSY'S HANDWRITING, PHOTOGRAPHS, SOME PRESSED FLOWERS. She deciphers a page of his words and drawings. It's almost exclusively about her, the lines studded with Ks.
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She reads, astonished, then looks at him as he and two of the three Bedouin circle the area of the cars in ever-widening circles, like water-diviners, like Kip searching for mines.
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Almásy
suddenly drops to his knees and begins to shovel into the sand. He pulls
out A CAN OF WATER. Turns to Katharine and holds it triumphantly in
the air.
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INT. THE PATIENT'S ROOM. DAY
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THE PATIENT: You like him don't you? Your voice changes. HANA:
I don't think it does THE PATIENT: I don't think it's indifference. Kip comes bounding in with a fresh can. |
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THE PATIENT: Hana was just telling me you were indifferent-- HANA (appalled): Hey!
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THE PATIENT: --to her cooking. KIP:
Well, I'm indifferent to cooking,
not Hana's cooking in particular. |
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Have either of you ever tried
condensed milk sandwiches? They're very good with salt.
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