unearths some literary gems.
From Belinda, An April Folly in Three Acts, by A. A. Milne:
Belinda. Darling, wasn't it next Thursday you were coming back?
Delia. No, this Thursday, silly.
Belinda (penitently). Oh, my darling, and I was going over to Paris to bring you home.
Delia. I half expected you.
Belinda. So confusing their both being called Thursday.
Belinda. Not that I should know him from Adam after all these years–except for a mole on his left arm.
Delia. Perhaps Adam had a mole.
Belinda. No, darling; you're thinking of Noah. He had two.
Betty. The two gentlemen, Mr. Baxter and Mr. Devenish, have both called together, ma'am.
Belinda (excited). Oh! How–how very simultaneous of them!
Belinda. Doesn't he talk nonsense?
Baxter. He'll grow out of it. I did.
Belinda. Oh, I hope not. I love talking nonsense, and I'm ever so old.
Devenish. Are you serious?
Belinda. Not as a rule.
[People as Landmarks dept.]
Tremayne. Are you Mrs. Tremayne by any chance?
Tremayne (nodding to himself). Yes.
Belinda. How did you know?
Tremayne (hastily inventing, moving down L. below the hammock). They use you as a sign-post in the village. Past Mrs. Tremayne's house and then bear to the left—
Belinda (Leading the way to the cupboard door.) Quick, in here.
Baxter (embarrassed at the thought that this sort of thing really only happens in a bedroom farce and moving towards her). I don't think I quite—
Belinda (reassuring him). It's perfectly respectable; it's where we keep the umbrellas. (She takes him by the hand.)
Baxter (resisting and looking nervously into the cupboard). I'm not at all sure that I—
Belinda (earnestly). Oh, but don't you see what trust I'm putting in you? (To herself.) Some people are so nervous about their umbrellas.
Belinda. Oh, he's a sort of statistician. Isn't that a horrid word to say? So stishany.