Senior. She didn't mean it. She never does.
Sophomore. (going to door and calling) Laurine, Laurine.
Junior. (outside) All right.
Senior. Maybe she's thinking up a new class souvenir to go with their rings and hatpins and pins and banners.
Freshman. Tell her we want to ask her advice, then she'll hurry.
Sophomore. (calling) Laurine, how soon are you coming?
Junior. (beginning before she enters with a Chaucer in her hand) "Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote"—I came much more quickly than I'll ever get that old stuff in my head. (she throws the book down)
Senior. Don't you like Chaucer? We just loved him.
Junior. So do all the rest of our class except me. I just can't get him into my head.
Sophomore. Poor thing! I should hope not.