Curwen: “Well, never mind him. Don’t pay the slightest attention to him. Let him go to the deuce! And, Caroline!”
Mrs. Curwen: “Yes?”
Curwen: “I—I—I’ve got your glove all right.”
Mrs. Curwen: “Left, you mean, I hope?”
Curwen: “Yes, left, dearest! I mean left.”
Mrs. Curwen: “Eight-button?”
Curwen: “Yes.”
Mrs. Curwen: “Light drab?”
Curwen, pulling a light yellow glove from his pocket: “Oh!” He staggers away from the grating and stays himself against the wall, the mistaken glove dangling limply from his hand.
Roberts, Lawton, and Bemis: “Ah! ha! ha! ha!”