Mother. "OH, MARY, WHY DO YOU WIPE YOUR MOUTH WITH THE BACK OF YOUR HAND?"
Mary. "'COS IT'S SO MUCH CLEANER THAN THE FRONT."
"SHIPS THAT PASS IN THE NIGHT."
I, who before these lines appear (or don't)
Must face the Board reviewing my diseases,
Am fluttered, as the sentient soul is wont,
Thinking how rum the case of me and these is;
We'll come together—just because it pleases
Some higher Pow'r—and then for ever part.