Cod. Yes—yes, ugh!—(Shuddering.)
Mrs. Cod. And I’m dying for air.
Mrs. Young. So am I, Mrs. Coddle.
Young. I am sure you are not.
Mrs. Young. I am.
Dismal. Shall I open the folding doors?
Cod. No—no!
Dove. I feel very languishing.
Mrs. Dove. Henry! languid.
Dove. Languid!—how she does take me up before people.—(aside.)