Fro. Threescore! Well, and what then? You don't mean to make a trouble of that, do you? It's the very flower of manhood, the threshold of the prime of life.
Har. True; but twenty years less would do me no harm, I think.
Fro. Nonsense! You've no need of that, and you are of a build to last out a hundred.
Har. Do you really think so?
Fro. Decidedly. You have all the appearance of it. Hold yourself up a little. Ah! what a sign of long life is that line there straight between your two eyes!
Har. You know all about that, do you?
Fro. I should think I do. Show me your hand.[3] Dear me, what a line of life there is there!
Har. Where?
Fro. Don't you see how far this line goes?
Har. Well, and what does it mean?