I realized my ribs were throbbing the split second Mr. Alston mentioned that his ribs were throbbing. They’re “Dancin’ the old Watoosy” Mr. Alston said, quite a funny man, wife’s not my type, lovely, yes, sweet, … but nobody will ever replace my Lorna. But I was saying, I knew essacly what he meant when he said it about his ribs. That horrible sound like fingernails on the blackboard. I could feel it in my ribs. But don’t you just love the Americans? “My ribs are dancing the old Watoosy”. And I told Mr. Alston-- “Mine are too!” Delightful man, I knew essacly what he was saying... As it is, I have now been on the very lovely and the very noble, “Titanic” for over fourteen hours, and I have spent the last six of which right here in this lovely party in my new friend’s rather elegant stateroom and though Mr. Alston is most charming and I enjoyed his Champagne to the absolute utmost, I must admit I am beginning to find the man every bit as boorish as he is charming, and if he slaps me on the head one more time and tells me to go up on deck, I am calling a porter! But perhaps that is not such a retched idea as I wonder if there is anything we could do about this beastly leaning over sideways business. It seems to me—

“Yeah, right oh! That’s lovely--”

but I was saying that it seems to me we paid a bloody good bit of quid for this—

“That’s so kind, women and children, women and children! God bless them!

And I have to say, where would we be without women and children—Oh dear, where are you going? I certainly hope you are fetching a porter! I was going to suggest perhaps one of us should…