Salome.
Oh, certainly. I am helpless.
Sheba.
We are curious to see to what lengths you will go.
Darbey.
The pitiable condition of my poor friend speaks for itself.
Salome.
I beg your pardon—it does nothing of the kind.
Tarver.
[Rising with difficulty and approaching Salome.] Salome—I have loved you distractedly for upwards of eight weeks.