[Impatiently.] Is there anything further you want with me?
Octavian.
[Affably.] Nothing, thank you, nothing. At least, nothing just now.
Cleopatra.
You would like to see me later?
Octavian.
[Gentler than a sucking dove.] In a few weeks, perhaps. The Triumph, you know. The sovereign people throwing up their caps and hallooing. The Procession up the Sacred Way, with the headsman at the end of it all. [Yawning slightly.] The usual thing.
Cleopatra.
[Losing her temper.] Oh, you’re not a man at all! You’re a block, a stone! You have no blood in your veins. You’re not like Antony.
Octavian.