Ah, there it goes!
My hunger makes no difference, I suppose!
Tra-la, tut tut, and I can slave and slave
Until my nose seems sniffing for a grave,
I’m bent so—and it’s little that you care!
Girl
(Who has arisen from window and regards her mother as in a dream.)
Hush, Mother dear, you’ll wake him!
Mother
Wake him? Where?