A Doll In The Doll-Maker'S House Looks At The Cradle And Balls: 'That Is An Insult To Us.' But The Oldest Of All The Dolls Who Had Seen, Being Kept For Show, Generations Of His Sort, Out-Screams The Whole Shelf: 'Although There'S Not A Man Can Report Evil Of This Place, The Man And The Woman Bring Hither To Our Disgrace, A Noisy And Filthy Thing.' Hearing Him Groan And Stretch The Doll-Maker'S Wife Is Aware Her Husband Has Heard The Wretch, And Crouched By The Arm Of His Chair, She Murmurs Into His Ear, Head Upon Shoulder Leant: 'My Dear, My Dear, Oh Dear, It Was An Accident.'