And what if it bites just as the fleas do?
All laugh. From the side of the city appears an organ-grinder, exhausted, half-blinded from dust and perspiration. He wants to pass by, but suddenly he pauses in despair, and begins to play a terrible tune.
SARAH.
Pass on, please, pass on. We need no music.
ORGAN-GRINDER.
Playing.
Neither do I need it.
SARAH.
We have nothing to give you. Pass on.
ORGAN-GRINDER.