Simon.
Damned rot! I warned you! And now, I say—now, I say—that if Mees, my daughter’s betrothed, not to speak of the others, if Mees—there will be murder.
Kaps.
You make me laugh! Go get yourself a dram and talk sense.
[Enter Marietje.]
Simon.
Better have stayed outside. No tidings.
Marietje.
[Softly sobbing.] No tidings.
Simon.