"See, mama, nice Mr. Haas is getting us the papers. Nice evening papers for Shila's mama." She leaned down into the recesses of the black grenadine, withdrawing from one of the pockets a pair of silver-rimmed spectacles, adjusting them with some difficulty to the nodding head. "Shila's—little mama! Shila's mama!"
"Aylorff, the littlest wreath for—Aylorff—Meine Kräntze—"
"Yes, yes."
"Mem Mann. Mein Sühn."
"'Shh-h-h, dearie!"
"Aylorff—der klenste Kranz far ihm!"
"'Shh-h-h, dearie! Talk English, like Selene wants. Wait till we get on the ship—the beautiful ship to take us back. Mama, see out the window! Look! That's the beautiful Forest Park, and this is the fine Hotel Walsingham just across. See out! Selene is going to have a flat on—"
"Sey hoben gestorben far Freiheit. Sey hoben—"
"There! That's the papers!"
To a succession of quick knocks, she flew to the door, returning with the folded evening editions under her arm.