You have so many friends, Ares. Poor Cydippe, then, broke down this morning in moaning hysterics after having borne up just long enough to do my hair. I really came out on this rather mad adventure after the raspberries to escape the dolours of her countenance, and the last thing I saw was her chlamys flung wildly over her head as she dived down upon the floor in misery. Such consolations as this island has to give me will not proceed from what you call my attendant. You do not look well, Ares.
Ares.
I am always well. I am still incensed.
Aphrodite.
Ah, you are oppressed by our misfortunes?
Ares.
I can think of nothing else.
Aphrodite.
You do not, I hope, give way to the most foolish of the emotions, and endure the silly torture of self-reproach?