“Turned on her ankle!” insisted Dell.
“Turned on her ankle,” reiterated Gar, who just “hung around” waiting for the doctor.
“Really, I can’t see—” moaned the distressed woman.
“But it’s only her ankle,” chanted Nancy.
“Say Maggie,” sang out Rosalind, from her billowy pillows, “do you want me to have something else the matter? Because if you do I can exhibit a wonderful array of scratches—”
“The doctor,” announced Margot, solemnly.
“The doctor,” repeated Rosalind, comically.
“The dopy-doc,” whispered Dell. “Let you and me escape, Nan,” she suggested.