de Reves: I—I—scarcely ... understand.
Fame: You're IT.
de Reves: But ... it is not possible ... are you she that knew Homer?
Fame: Homer? Lord, yes. Blind old bat, 'e couldn't see a yard.
de Reves: O Heavens!
[Fame walks beautifully to the window. She opens it and puts her head out.
Fame (in a voice with which a woman in an upper storey would cry for help if the house was well alight): Hi! Hi! Boys! Hi! Say, folks! Hi!
[The murmur of a gathering crowd is heard. Fame blows her trumpet.
Fame: Hi, he's a poet! (Quickly, over her shoulder.) What's your name?
de Reves: De Reves.