It’s Harry! Harry Melrose! Is it you?
I can’t believe it’s you: you look so old!
Last time I saw you, you were only twenty
How long’s it been since you were last parolled?
I don’t suppose you knew we lost our daughter
An accident, at least that’s what they said:
And Myrtle has the cancer, more’s the pity
— My second wife; I married her instead
of doing housework after Ruthie died
Of course you knew we had to sell the business
After the fire it wasn’t quite the same
I see it’s raining; we should go inside
This weather’s playing hell with my arthritis
Thanks, Har: next year let’s do it all again!