The Fugitive by John Galsworthy
page 39 of 111 (35%)
page 39 of 111 (35%)
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CLARE. Would you say--a lady.
MRS. MILER. It's against the rules. But if you'll sit down a moment I'll see what I can do. [She brings forward a chair and rubs it with her apron. Then goes to the door of the inner room and speaks through it] A lady to see you. [Returning she removes some cigarette ends] This is my hour. I shan't make much dust. [Noting CLARE's eyebrows raised at the debris round the armchair] I'm particular about not disturbin' things. CLARE. I'm sure you are. MRS. MILER. He likes 'is 'abits regular. Making a perfunctory pass with the Bissell broom, she runs it to the cupboard, comes back to the table, takes up a bottle and holds it to the light; finding it empty, she turns it upside down and drops it into the wastepaper basket; then, holding up the other bottle, and finding it not empty, she corks it and drops it into the fold of her skirt. MRS. MILER. He takes his claret fresh-opened--not like these 'ere bawgwars. CLARE. [Rising] I think I'll come back later. MRS. MILER. Mr. Malise is not in my confidence. We keep each other to ourselves. Perhaps you'd like to read the paper; he has it fresh every mornin'--the Westminister. |
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