Littlefield.
Bless my soul!
He turns to Rhoda, pointedly ignoring Michaelis.
Look here, Rho, be sensible. I'm tired of this hole of a town already. We'll go west and renew our youth. Country's big, and nobody to meddle. You'll flourish like a green bay tree.
Rhoda turns distractedly, as to escape; he intercepts her.
Confound it, if you're so set on it, I'll marry you! Say yes, and let John the Baptist here give us his blessing. Speak up. Is it a go?—Till death us do part.
Michaelis.
Death has already parted you and her.
Littlefield.
So? I feel like a reasonably healthy corpse.