My poor Hannah, I fear I have placed myself in an equivocal position.
Hannah.
[With a shriek of despair.] Ah!
The Dean.
Be quiet, woman!
Hannah.
Is it a change o’ cooking that’s brought you to such ways? I cooked for you for seven ’appy years!
The Dean.
[Sniffing.] Alas! you seem to have lost none of your culinary skill.
Hannah.