Frate. Not I indeed.
Assunta. Allow me then?
Frate. No, nor you.
Assunta. Then let me stand upon yours, to push down the points.
... Frate Biagio now began to relent a little, when Assunta, who had made one step toward the project, bethought herself suddenly, and said:
‘No; I might miss my footing. But, mercy upon us! what made you cramp your Reverence with those ox-yoke shoes? and strangle your Reverence with that hangdog collar?’
‘If you must know,’ answered the Frate, reddening, ‘it was because I am making a visit to the Canonico of Parma. I should like to know something about him: perhaps you could tell me?’
Assunta. Ever so much.
Frate. I thought no less: indeed I knew it. Which goes to bed first?
Assunta. Both together.