that will make you comfortable.

LIZA. I heard YOUR prayers. "Thank God it's all over!"

HIGGINS [impatiently] Well, don't you thank God it's all over?
Now you are free and can do what you like.

LIZA [pulling herself together in desperation] What am I fit for?
What have you left me fit for? Where am I to go? What am I to do?
What's to become of me?

HIGGINS [enlightened, but not at all impressed] Oh, that's what's
worrying you, is it? [He thrusts his hands into his pockets, and
walks about in his usual manner, rattling the contents of his
pockets, as if condescending to a trivial subject out of pure
kindness]. I shouldn't bother about it if I were you. I should
imagine you won't have much difficulty in settling yourself,
somewhere or other, though I hadn't quite realized that you were
going away. [She looks quickly at him: he does not look at her,
but examines the dessert stand on the piano and decides that he
will eat an apple]. You might marry, you know. [He bites a large
piece out of the apple, and munches it noisily]. You see, Eliza,
all men are not confirmed old bachelors like me and the Colonel.
Most men are the marrying sort (poor devils!); and you're not
bad-looking; it's quite a pleasure to look at you sometimes--not
now, of course, because you're crying and looking as ugly as the
very devil; but when you're all right and quite yourself, you're
what I should call attractive. That is, to the people in the
marrying line, you understand. You go to bed and have a good nice
rest; and then get up and look at yourself in the glass; and you