"Oh, I'm so sorry for you, darling."
"Well, thereafter, like any drone, I merely followed the path of least resistance and tried valiantly to develop a taste for margaritas. And, at last, we were back on the bloody bus, and when I happened to glance out the window an hour or two later and saw a street sign indicating that we had returned to civilization—or at least to that second cousin of civilization that calls itself 'El-lay'—I made very hasty apologies, claiming that I was going to meet a dear old friend at the next corner, and exited precipitously from the bus as soon as it came to a stoplight. Darling, if I ever get a taxi back to the hotel, I'll be on the nine o'clock flight tomorrow morning. Till then, Sylvia."
"Good night, Michael. Oh, you poor dear."