Yung. It won’t hurt you, Mee-Mee, it’s a very little one.
Mee. Oh, so graciously to condescen’! T’ank!
[She grovels and advances on all fours. Having received it she takes opportunity, while Yung-Rlangtsi is exploring the box for remains, to throw it away, and wipe her hand.
Yung. It’s very hard, Mee-Mee, when one has got a sorrow like mine, ever to forget it.
Mee. Ah! dat so true!
Yung. It spoils my appetite, Mee-Mee: it upsets my digestion ... sometimes it even prevents me from sleeping.... I haven’t slept ... I haven’t slept since.... You there, Mee-Mee?
Mee. Yes.
Yung. Come and fan me.
Crier. [Without in the distance.] Lights, lights, lights! People, people, people! Light your lanterns all!
Chorus. [In distance.]