ROBERT. Not more than mine!

MARY. What's yours?

ROBERT. What's yours?

MARY. _I want my father_!

ROBERT. I WANT MY LITTLE KID!

[There is a second's pause.]

MARY. Your--what? . . .

ROBERT [brokenly]. My--daughter.

MARY. Oh! . . .

[She goes towards him: they face each other.]

[Softly.] Is she dead?

[He stands looking at her.]

Is she?

[He turns away from her.]

ROBERT. Fur as I am concerned--yus.