—Good evening.
—Do you remember his birth? I believe you were there.
—I must be dying. Good Lord! Good Lord! Who will carry me to the
grave? Who will bury me? I'll be lying like a dog on the street.
People will step over me, wagons will ride over me. They'll crush me.
Oh, my God! Oh, my God! (Cries)
—Permit me to congratulate you, my dear friend, on the birth of your child.
—I am positive there is a mistake here. For a circle to fall out of a straight line is an absurdity. I'll demonstrate it on the spot.
—You're right.
—Oh my! Oh my!
—It's only ignoramuses in mathematics who will permit it. I won't. I won't permit it, do you hear?
—Do you remember the rosy dress and the little bare neck?
—And the flowers? The lilies-of-the-valley on which the dew never dried, and the violets, and the green grass?