"Nothing's wrong, dear. Things are picking up. I picked up a blonde, for instance—and Paul's taking her out. So maybe his mental health is improving."
"And maybe you should have taken her out yourself! You sound like somebody playing an ocarina in Mammoth Cave; positively sepulchral."
"The heat. Expanded my sinuses. Gives me that hollow ring. Is it hot up there?"
"Eighty-six tonight. The natives are dying of it."
"It must be a hundred here."
"I read about it in the Buffalo papers. Gee!"
"It's pretty lurid. They had a veterans' parade yesterday—and I went over to Fifth to watch—and it was damn near immobilized in the asphalt. It would have been funny—millions of guys stuck there—blocking traffic all winter—! If you go out just to get a paper, you need asbestos shoes. Any minute, this joint may run like paraffin."
"I think you ought to knock off and go see somebody."
"Town's evacuated. Wouldn't be emptier if Molotov was threatening to A-bomb."
"Do you feel all right?"