I wonder why all appetite for dinner it destroys in you!
Jane.
Oh, Tommy, you are half afraid you've ate enough to poison you?
Tommy.
No, that I'm not—so there now! &c., &c.
[They dance as before.
Tommy.
Jane, is your palate parching up in horrible aridity?
Jane.
It is, and in my throat's a lump of singular solidity.