JOSEPH. (writing) No. You came here to talk about me.
MADAM POTIPHAR. I came here to talk about my cousin Asenath. You knew she was coming—why didn't you tell me you had been in service in her father's household in Heliopolis?
JOSEPH. (writing) It wasn't necessary for me to tell you. I knew she would.
MADAM POTIPHAR. No doubt you think we sat there all the time she was combing her hair, and talked about you!
JOSEPH. (writing) Precisely.
MADAM POTIPHAR. I suppose you know she is crazy about you!
JOSEPH. (still writing) Is she?
MADAM POTIPHAR. She doesn't put it just that way. She says she takes an interest in your future.
JOSEPH. (continuing to work) She doesn't take half as much interest in it as I do.
MADAM POTIPHAR. She told me your romantic story: how you had been sold by your brothers into slavery because you wore a coat of many colours. Joseph, did you wear a coat of many colours? That seems a curious thing for any one to be angry about.