Harpagon is a miserable old miser who has decided to take a new wife.
Har. (aside). All is as it should be. (To Frosine) Well, what is it, Frosine?
Fro. Bless me, how well you look! You are the very picture of health.
Har. Who? I?
Fro. Never have I seen you looking more rosy, more hearty.
Har. Are you in earnest?
Fro. Why! you have never been so young in your life; and I know many a man of twenty-five who looks much older than you do.
Har. And yet, Frosine, I have passed threescore.
Fro. Threescore! Well, and what then? You don't mean to make a trouble of that, do you? It's the very flower of manhood, the threshold of the prime of life.
Har. True; but twenty years less would do me no harm, I think.
Fro. Nonsense! You've no need of that, and you are of a build to last out a hundred.
Har. Do you really think so?
Fro. Decidedly. You have all the appearance of
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