SCHIGOLCH.

LULU. I'd rather not. (Sits opposite Schigolch.) Tell me about it.

LULU.

SCHIGOLCH. The streets keep on getting longer, and my legs shorter.

SCHIGOLCH.

[Page 38] LULU. And your harmonica?

[Page 38] 

LULU.

SCHIGOLCH. Has bad air, like me with my asthma. I just keep a-thinking it isn't worth the trouble to make it better. (They clink glasses.)

SCHIGOLCH.

LULU. (Emptying her glass.) I thought you'd come to an end a long time ago—

LULU.

SCHIGOLCH. To an end—already up and away? I thought so, too. But no matter how early the sun goes down, still we aren't let lie quiet. I'm hoping for winter. Perhaps then my (coughing) —my—my asthma will invent some opportunity to carry me off.

SCHIGOLCH.

LULU. (Filling the glasses.) Do you think they could have forgotten you on the other side?

LULU.

SCHIGOLCH. Would be possible, for it certainly isn't going like it usually does. (Stroking her knee.) Now you tell—not seen you a long time—my little Lulu.

SCHIGOLCH.

LULU. (Jerking back, smiling.) Life is beyond me!

LULU.

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