HUNTINGDON. [Staring] George may be a bit prosaic. But, my dear old
girl, if that's all----
CLARE. It's not all--it's nothing. I can't explain, Reggie--it's
not reason, at all; it's--it's like being underground in a damp cell;
it's like knowing you'll never get out. Nothing coming--never
anything coming again-never anything.
HUNTINGDON. [Moved and puzzled] My dear old thing; you mustn't get
into fantods like this. If it's like that, don't think about it.
CLARE. When every day and every night!--Oh! I know it's my fault
for having married him, but that doesn't help.
HUNTINGDON. Look here! It's not as if George wasn't quite a decent
chap. And it's no use blinking things; you are absolutely dependent
on him. At home they've got every bit as much as they can do to keep
going.
CLARE. I know.
HUNTINGDON. And you've got to think of the girls. Any trouble would
be very beastly for them. And the poor old Governor would feel it
awfully.
CLARE. If I didn't know all that, Reggie, I should have gone home
long ago.
HUNTINGDON. Well, what's to be done? If my pay would run to it--but
it simply won't.
CLARE. Thanks, old boy, of course not.
HUNTINGDON. Can't you try to see George's side of it a bit?
CLARE. I do. Oh! don't let's talk about it.
HUNTINGDON. Well, my child, there's just one thing you won't go
sailing near the wind, will you? I mean, there are fellows always on
the lookout.
CLARE. "That chap, Malise, you'd better avoid him!" Why?
HUNTINGDON.
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