Lena. Vell, vot?
Han. I don’t vant to tell you.
Lena. Why not?
Han. You wud make fun of me, tell me dot I vos too fresh, und had petter go wash my mouth oud with salt.
Lena. No I von’t.
Han. Promise id.
Lena. Yes.
Han. Vell, dear, I vill gif mineself avay. Lena, you vos a nice leetle Yarman girl.
Lena. Dot fact vos gray-headed.