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Queen - [scattering flowers] Sweets to the sweet!
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Alas, poor Michael! a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. Where be your gibes now? Quite chop-fallen?
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Good gentlemen, I gather that mechanical means of reducing ridges, i.e. sanding [ASIDE: stage whisper: "random orbital power sander?"] are too radical to consider? But what fun it would be to try this, especially on someone else's painting! [gleeful rubbing of hands together]
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King - [rising] My words fly up, my thoughts remain below:/ Words without thoughts never to heaven go.
[EXIT Linda, hastily]
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