No, no. Indeed I have not.
The Man.
And a cigar! Cigars do not grow on windowsills. They cost money, and have to be bought in shops. What you see is only a piece of black twig, or something of the kind.
His Wife.
But look for yourself. I am sure it must be the neighbours who have left these things for us.
The Man.
The neighbours? Well, of a truth they may have been the instruments, but the work has been the work of God himself. And even if it were devils who have brought the things here, it should not prevent you from coming and sitting on my knee, little wife.
[The Man's Wife seats herself upon his knee, and they proceed to eat; she breaking off little bits of bread, and placing them between his lips, while he feeds her with milk out of the bottle.]
The Man.
I believe it is cream, it looks so good.