Desdemona had been brushing her hair at the mirror when Othello came in. She turned, regarded him. “My lord, I’ve never known a man more brave, nor more manly in body and demeanor, yet your sneeze concerns me, for when I heard such a sneeze last, it was in the gardens of Belmont, and belonged to a weak and soon to be deceased squirrel.”

“ ’Twas a strong sneeze,” said the Moor.

“Aye, a mighty, heroic sneeze, my lord. The ship-sinking tempest blushes with shame at the blustering destruction of thine most magnificent and not at all sickly squirrel sneeze!”

“You mock me?”

She tossed her long hair over her shoulder. “I do, my lord.”

The Moor held his hand over his nose. “I would not offend thee with my squirrelish rheum, then. Bring me a handkerchief.”

Desdemona quickly retrieved a handkerchief from the chest by the bed and handed it to the Moor, who held it as if it were a foul, dead thing. “Not this one,” said he.

“But it is clean.”

“Have you the handkerchief I gave you? The one with the strawberries embroidered upon it?”

“I know not where it is, my lord.”

“I would have that one, with the strawberries. The one I did give you as my first favor. Given to me by my mother, who received it from an Egyptian charmer who could almost read the thoughts of people. She told my mother that as long as she kept it, it would subdue my father completely to her love, but if she lost it, or made gift of it, he should hold her loathed, and his spirits should hunt after her new fancies. She gave it to me as she was dying, and made me promise I would give it to my wife and she should make it the darling of her eye.”

“Really? You’ve a handful of snot, and a perfectly good handkerchief, but you would prefer to hold out for the one with the strawberries on it?”

“Tis true, there is magic in the warp and woof of it. A prophetic sibyl did weave it, and the worms that spun the silk were blessed, and the thread for the embroidery was colored with dye made from the hearts of mummified virgins. I would have that handkerchief. If you be true to me, lady, and not a wanton strumpet, I would have that handkerchief now.”

“Well, if it was so sodding sacred, my lord, you shouldn’t have soiled it as you did.”

“What?”

“I sent it to the laundry because you used it after you had me in the nun suit.”

“I am a soldier, Desdemona, and not refined in my ways. It was you bade me use it.”