"Yes, well?"
"Well, I don't know. Poet, poem, manoeuvre, Loeb edition, Citroen—it might be anything."
"Dunno about that. There aren't lashings of English words with 'oe' in them—and it's written so close it almost looks like a diphthong at that."
"Perhaps it isn't an English word."
"Exactly; perhaps it isn't."
"Oh! Oh, I see. French?"
"Ah, you're gettin' warm."
"Soeur—oeuvre—oeuf—boeuf—"
"No, no. You were nearer the first time."
"Soeur—coeur!"