CINDERELLA. You’re thin on the top.
POLICEMAN (in his winding sheet). I’ve all run to beard.
CINDERELLA (the ever ready). I have a ointment for the hair; it is my own invention. The price is a penny.
POLICEMAN (gruffly). Beard, please.
CINDERELLA. I’ve got some voice drops.
POLICEMAN. Beard, please.
CINDERELLA (as she prepares the lather). Is the streets quiet?
POLICEMAN (cunningly). Hereabouts they are; but there’s great doings in the fashionable quarters. A ball, I’m told.
CINDERELLA (gasping). You didn’t see no peculiar person about in this street?