stuff
by: me

Meursault walks in smoking a cigarette.

Stanley: Can I have a drag of that?

Ma Joad: Put that darned thing out!

Iago: (to Desdemona) Fairest lady, how ist thine morrow?

Desdemona: (Distant tone, sighing) Fair.

Iago: (Angered) Ever since that damndest Moor, thou don’tst speaketh to me any more!

Gatsby walks in.

Gatsby: (to Iago) Excuse me, old sport. (to Desdemona) I believe this is yours.

Gatsby hands her a handkerchief.

Iago: (to Gatsby) Dost thou seeketh a fight?

Gatsby: Huh? What are you saying, old sport?

Iago: A sport I am not!

Gatsby: I meant nothing by it, old... chum.

Iago holds in his raging temper.