When they were crossing Broadway, the usual crowd of children accosted them for alms--" "Hold on," said the director, rushing forward, his arm extended.

"Put more feeling into what you are saying." Mrs.Morgan looked at him as if she feared a personal assault.

Her eye lightened with resentment.
"Remember, Mrs.Morgan," he added, ignoring the gleam, but modifying his manner, "that you're detailing a pathetic story.

You are now supposed to be telling something that is a grief to you.

It requires feeling, repression, thus: 'The usual crowd of children accosted them for alms.'" "All right," said Mrs.Morgan.
"Now, go on." "As mother felt in her pocket for some change, her fingers touched a cold and trembling hand which had clutched her purse." "Very good," interrupted the director, nodding his head significantly.
"A pickpocket! Well!" exclaimed Mr.Bamberger, speaking the lines that here fell to him.
"No, no, Mr.Bamberger," said the director, approaching, "not that way.
'A pickpocket--well ?' so.