"Dried up at your age? May I touch your face just a little?"
"You may not!"
"Oh, well, it doesn't matter. There's charm in baked apples. There's character in a dried-up face."
"But that was only the beginning. As I dried and shriveled, my hair fell out."
"Good! I love a bald head—especially in a woman. There's no distinction in hair. All animals have it. In that delectable period of sudden marriages, I remember some things clearly, as if yesterday. I recall distinctly the eyes of my bride. No man could forget them. In their fathomless depths even a boy could lose himself. And, oh, so beautiful! One such eye would transform a dried apple face into a thing of joy. And in that bride's face were two of them. Don't tell me they, also, are gone."
"Only one."
"Too bad! Have you lost any limbs?"
"Not yet."
"And your teeth are gone?"
"Oh, long, long ago."