( A mighty fine thing, this mask that's shielding his face from the obvious revelation of his face scrunching. His hands bind behind his back, fingers twinning. )

My friend. It was raining. He gave it to me. ( A pause. ) You can't keep it.

( In case that admission had vastly increased the umbrella's worth. ) I want it back. You're all... wrong and sick and you don't belong. And you stole my umbrella.