- Florrie: [playing cards] My dear Henry, if dirty fingers were trumps, what a splendid hand you'd have.
- Narrator: Dawn-tripping foul-mouthed through the severed limbs and snoozing boozers, Old Scrotum, the wrinkled retainer, staggers for a hair of the dog that last night bit him and to wash away the taste of Mrs. E., while the one-time prisoners awoke, free and fresh, dropping their shackles like an orchestra of falling teeth.