Three years I’ve waited, while time has tarried.
Mee-Mee, when are you going to get married?
Mee. [Stiffly.] Not goin’ to get mallied.
Wio.
Oh, yes, you are! Tell the truth, Mee-Mee!
Come now!—when is the day to be?
Mee. [Reluctantly.] Well ... me’d bin hopin’ dey forget.... Dey not!... Las’ night de Mistless say—‘Mee-Mee!’ (like dat!) ‘you gettin’ yo’self leddy to mally to-mollow—first t’ing?’... [Her voice begins to quaver.] Me gettin’ meself leddy now.... Plesently she come: plesently she say—‘You wife, you not lill’ gel any mo’!’
Wio. And then?
Mee. And den? Ah! den me got to die!
Wio. Die? When?