Nothing, [my][53] darling, de least said is soonest mended, and so you shall have all de talk to yourself.—Now ain't dat liberal?
Dame.
Where's all the game you were to bring home?
Rip.
On de wing still: wouldn't venture to come mitin fire; for though dey missed mine gun, dere's one ting for certain, I never miss your blowing up.
Dame.
My blowing up! Odds bodikins and pins! I shall never be able to contain myself! Where's the money to pay the rent, you oaf?
Rip.
I don't know.—Do you?
Dame.