"Why, you poor dear, you are tired," said Rosalie in her softest, most gurgly voice. "Let me make some fresh toast."
"No toast—just coffee—but lots of it."
"I always said it was silly, walking around without breakfast. I told you that before. You look positively yellow."
"Dust."
"At the least, you should choose a cool and shady street," said her father. "You look jaded, dear. I am afraid it is too much for you."
"I am jaded. Father, my poor dear father, be prepared for a bitter blow."
"What is it?"
"The car, the beautiful red car that dear Mr. Davison left you, is stolen."
"Stolen!"
"The car?"