The Dove—[Quietly.] She said to me:
“Take all the blood stains off first, then polish it.”
Vera—There you are; she is quite mad, there’s no doubt. Blood stains! Why, she would be afraid to cut her chops with it—and as for the rest of her manifestations—nonsense!
The Dove—She carries a pistol with her, just to go around the corner for a pound of butter.
Vera—It’s wicked! She keeps an enormous blunderbuss in the corner of her room, but when I make up her bed, all I find is some Parisienne bathing girl’s picture stuck full of pin holes——
The Dove—I know, she sits beside me for hours making those pin holes in the borders of everything in sight.
Vera—[With a strange anger.] Why do you stay?
The Dove—Why should I go?
Vera—I should think this house and two such advanced virgins as Amelia and myself would drive you to despair——
The Dove—No, no, I’m not driven to despair——