Frank. Oh, that’s nobody but Sammy Long, and he is displeased because we didn’t invite him to take part in the exhibition.
Tommy. Well, I’ll go ahead and speak my piece while you are trying to think up the words you have forgotten.
Her eyes were like a weasel’s; she had a harsh
Face, like a cranberry marsh,
All spread with spots of white and red;
Hair of the color of a wisp of straw,
And a disposition like a cross-cut saw.
The appellation of this lovely dame
Was Nancy; don’t forget the name.
Frank. Stop, Tommy; I can finish my speech now.