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Summary
“Why can’t a woman be more like a man?” he demands again.
His companion considers him with mild amusement. “Is that all a woman is to you, Higgins, an inferior form of intellect?”
“Yes,” he snaps irritably, “what the devil else might they be good for?”
His bemusement only seems to grow. “Most men seem to enjoy their company in,” he clears his throat delicately, “less intellectual pursuits.”
Yet another alternate ending, now with gay sex!
Solidly movie musical ‘verse, diverges at the beginning of “I’ve Grown Accustomed to Her Face.”