She's the best wax, and has three changes of clothing—
For those cheap wooden dolls I've quite a loathing.
Bl. (hastily). Oh, so have I—they're not to be endured!
Re-enter Brunette with the wooden doll, which she tries to press upon Blanchidine, much to the latter's confusion.
Br. I've brought poor Timburina back, completely cured!
Why, aren't you pleased? Your face is looking so cloudy!
F. (haughtily). Is she a friend of yours—this little dowdy? [Slow music.
Bl. (after an internal struggle). Oh, no, what an idea!
Why, I don't even know her by name!
Some vulgar child ...
[Lets the wax doll fall unregarded on the gravel.
Br. (indignantly). Oh, what a horrid shame!
I see now why you sent us to the Serpentine!
Bl. (heartlessly). There's no occasion to flare up like turpentine.
Br. (ungrammatically). I'm not! Disown your doll, and thrust me, too, aside!
The one thing left for both of us is—suicide!
Yes, Timburina, us no more she cherishes—
(Bitterly.) Well, the Round Pond a handy place to perish is!