"Open it, do: the noise is getting on my nerves."
She noticed that the cab which had come from Paris had stopped near their house, at about the tenth tree from where she stood; she looked at the thin, steaming horse and the shabby driver, and asked:
"What is that carriage?"
"It's a cab, my pet."
"Why does it stop here?"
"It has not stopped here? It's stopping in front of the next house."
"There is no next house; there's only a vacant lot."
"Well, then, it has stopped in front of a vacant lot. What more can I tell you?"
"I don't see anyone getting out of it."
"The driver is perhaps waiting for a fare."