Penelope: A Comedy in Three Acts

by W. Somerset Maugham

I looked upon her as a real friend.

Penelope.

I’ve told Ada that she expired in your arms, darling.

Dickie.

With a smile on her lips.

Penelope.

That’s just what I said. Murmuring the name of her husband, who’d been dead for forty years. What did you say the name was, Dickie?

Dickie.

Walker, darling.

Penelope.