HUBERT: Good God!...

MRS. TERENCE: D'you mean ... this woman they're looking for?

OLIVIA: I'm sure of it.

MRS. TERENCE: But 'es's such a--such a ordinary boy--

OLIVIA: That's just it--and then he's suddenly so ... extraordinary.
I've felt it ever since I heard him sing that song--I told you--

HUBERT: That "mighty-lak-a-rose" thing, you mean? Oh, but it's a pretty
well-known one--

OLIVIA: It's more than that. I've kept on saying to myself: No,
murder's a thing we read about in the papers; it isn't real life; it
can't touch us. ... But it can. And it's here. All round us. In the
forest ... in this house. We're ... living with it. (_After a pause,
rising decisively_) Bring his luggage in here, will you, Mrs.
Terence?

MRS. TERENCE (_staggered_): 'Is luggage? (_Recovering, to_
DORA) Give me a 'and.

_Wide-eyed, she goes into the kitchen, followed by_ DORA.

HUBERT: I say, this is a bit thick, you know--spying--

OLIVIA (_urgently_): We may never have the house to ourselves
again.