Of course, it's me. D'you think I was talking of the man in the moon?
Mrs. Crowley.
[Looking at him critically.] With the light behind, you might still pass for thirty-five.
Dick.
I've given up youth and its vanities. I no longer pluck out my white hairs.
Mrs. Crowley.
Then how on earth do you occupy your leisure?
Dick.
For the last three months I've been laboriously piecing together the fragments of a broken heart.
Mrs. Crowley.