I sometimes miss the carefully-crafted dialogue of the time when Casablanca was filmed. Today, Rick would just say, “You’re no better than a fuckin’ whore.” Instead, we get this exchange (he calls her a whore in the last exposition).
Ilsa: Can I tell you a story, Rick?
Rick: Has it got a wow finish?
Ilsa: I don’t know the finish yet.
Rick: Well, go on. Tell it - maybe one will come to you as you go along.
Ilsa: 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’d 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 ever became was because of him. And she looked up to him and worshiped him… with a feeling she supposed was love.
Rick: [bitterly] 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.