BOB. Gerald, Marcus is a wrong un. (Fiercely) An out-and-out wrong
un.

GERALD. The only time I saw him he looked like it.

BOB. God knows what he's let me in for.

GERALD. You mean money?

BOB. More than that, perhaps.

GERALD. You mean you're just going bankrupt?

BOB. No. (After a pause) Prosecution.

GERALD. Well, let them prosecute. That ends Marcus. You're well
rid of him.

BOB (miserably). Perhaps it isn't only Marcus.

GERALD (sharply, after this has sunk in). What can they prosecute
you for?

BOB (speaking rapidly). What the devil did they ever send me to the
City for? I didn't want to go. I was never any good at figures. I
loathe the whole thing. What the devil did they want to send me
there for--and shove me on to a wrong un like Marcus? That's his
life, messing about with money in the City. How can I stand out
against a man like that? I never wanted to go into it at all.