THE DAUGHTER. [Pleasantly] What can be done about it?
THE LAWYER. Nothing.
THE DAUGHTER. We shall have to get a larger place.
THE LAWYER. We have no money for it.
THE DAUGHTER. May I open the window—this bad air is suffocating.
THE LAWYER. Then the heat escapes, and we shall be cold.
THE DAUGHTER. It is horrible!—May we clean up out there?
THE LAWYER. You have not the strength to do any cleaning, nor have I, and Christine must paste. She must put strips through the whole house, on every crack, in the ceiling, in the floor, in the walls.
THE DAUGHTER. Poverty I was prepared for, but not for dirt.
THE LAWYER. Poverty is always dirty, relatively speaking.