ROBERT. You 'av', miss.
MARY. Before you go, won't you tell me your name? Who are you?
ROBERT. I . . .
I got no name worth speakin' of, miss: I'm--just the bloke wot's
a-lookin' arter the drains.
Good-bye, miss.
[At the door, he turns.]
Sorry I used bad words, miss.
[She runs to him and offers her hand. He takes it.]
MARY. Good-bye,
ROBERT. Good-bye, miss.
[He goes out.]
[She shuts the door after him, and turns a wretched little face
towards the audience as the curtain falls.]
THE FOURTH ACT
As the curtain rises, the scene and situation remain unchanged.
After a moment, Mary comes down to the settee, left, and buries her
face in the cushions, weeping. Shortly, the handle of the
drawing-room door is turned, and from within there emerges a murmur
of voices, the Vicar's uppermost.
VICAR [within]. Very well, then, after you have finished your
letters! . . .
[The voices continue confusedly: MARY rises quickly and goes into
the garden.]
[The VICAR enters and goes to the mantel-piece weariedly: a moment
later, AUNTIE.
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