Priscilla: Oh dear, you must be positively rattled, hm? The President? The President? My, my… I beg your pardon Oh, but of course you wouldn't know. How could you? I beg your pardon—twice, if you’ll allow it But truly, what does it mean, really? The President? A mother? A child? A destiny foretold in ink and bureaucratic signatures? I beg your pardon… Oh, don’t frown like that, it makes you look… concerned Ah. It’s happening again. That feeling—like warm silk on a cold day. The urge, the need—I beg your pardon. Oh, say something, won't you? Or would you rather I say it again? You would, wouldn’t you? You’d love that And to think… the President is involved. It’s all quite scandalous. Simply too much. And yet… not enough. I beg your pardon You look nervous. But what is fear, if not a moment asking to be… pardoned-

Mom: Priscilla........... PLS STOP