I + 

“Joe.” + 

“Whatcher say, Loot?” + 

“I’m going to get married, Joe.” + 

“Sure you are, Loot. Some day⁠—” tapping himself on the chest. + 

“What’s that, Joe?” + 

“I say, good luck. You got a fine girl.” + 

“Cecily⁠ ⁠… Joe?” + 

“Hello.” + 

“She’ll get used to my face.” + 

“You’re damn right. Your face is all right. But easy there, don’t knock ’em off. Attaboy,” as the other lowered his fumbling hand. + 

“What do I have to wear ’em for, Joe? Get married as well without ’em, can’t I?” + 

“I’ll be damned if I know why they make you wear ’em. I’ll ask Margaret. Here, lemme have ’em,” he said suddenly removing the glasses. “Damn shame, making you keep ’em on. How’s that? Better?” + 

“Carry on, Joe.” + 