Pointing

The flâneurs were wandering through Paris, peering and staring at everything interesting. "Look at that," murmured one, "a wonderful array of stuffed animals and a birdcage full of pincushions."

"See there," sighed a second, "a marvellous wall of lithographs and a forest of corsets."

"Oh, observe," muttered a third in ecstasy, "a tremendous collection of mirrors."

"Stop pointing at us," said the other two.