[LARRY feels in his pocket, brings out the little box, opens it,
fingers the white tabloids.]

LARRY. Two each--after food. [He laughs and puts back the box] Oh!
my girl!

[The sound of a piano playing a faint festive tune is heard afar
off. He mutters, staring at the fire.]

[Flames-flame, and flicker-ashes.]

"No more, no more, the moon is dead, And all the people in it."

[He sits on the couch with a piece of paper on his knees, adding
a few words with a stylo pen to what is already written.]

[The GIRL, in a silk wrapper, coming back through the curtains,
watches him.]

LARRY. [Looking up] It's all here--I've confessed. [Reading]

"Please bury us together."
"LAURENCE DARRANT.
"January 28th, about six p.m."

They'll find us in the morning. Come and have supper, my dear love.

[The girl creeps forward. He rises, puts his arm round her, and
with her arm twined round him, smiling into each other's faces,
they go to the table and sit down.]