That's what
women hate men most for, that they haven't the courage to live.
GERALD. Mother takes her courage in both hands rather late.
ANABEL. We're a little late ourselves.
GERALD. We are, rather. By the way, you seem to have had plenty of
the courage of death--you've played a pretty deathly game, it seems to
me--both when I knew you and afterwards, you've had your finger pretty
deep in the death-pie.
ANABEL. That's why I want a change of--of---
GERALD. Of heart?--Better take mother's tip, and try the poker.
ANABEL. I will.
GERALD. Ha--corraggio!
ANABEL. Yes--corraggio!
GERALD. Corraggiaccio!
ANABEL. Corraggione!
GERALD. Cock-a-doodle-doo!
(Enter OLIVER and FREER.)
Oh, come in. Don't be afraid; it's a charade. (ANABEL rises.) No,
don't go, Anabel. Corraggio! Take a seat, Mr. Freer.
JOB ARTHUR. Sounds like a sneezing game, doesn't it?
GERALD. It is. Do you know the famous rhyme:
Speak roughly to your little boy,
And beat him when he sneezes?
JOB ARTHUR. No, I can't say I do.
GERALD. My mother does. Will you have anything to drink? Will you
help yourself?
JOB ARTHUR. Well--no--I don't think I'll have anything, thanks.
GERALD. A cherry brandy?--Yes?--Anabel, what's yours?
ANABEL. Did I see Kummel?
GERALD. You did. (They all take drinks.) What's the latest, Mr.
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