Philip [musingly]: A peeled salmon in a sea of blood.
Dorothy [revolted]: Philip:
Philip: Yes, dear.
Dorothy: You frighten me when you talk like that.
Philip: I’m sorry. I only wanted to frighten myself. I don’t want to talk about beefsteaks.
Dorothy: Poor Philip!
Philip: Bloody ones with gristle. That’s Kipling. I can’t forget these things.
Dorothy: I think that to-morrow if nothing happens—
Philip: Well?
Dorothy: Something will happen.
Philip: No. To-morrow morning I’ll sell some of the furniture.
Dorothy: But it belongs to the landlord.
Philip: I think sometimes that we belong to the landlord. We’ll tell Shy lock we’ve eaten his armchairs. A sofa on toast with little mushrooms and chopped parsley.
Dorothy: I think I heard a knock.
Philip: It’s your fancy knocking against the walls of your head because it cannot sleep.
Dorothy: No, I’m sure I heard a knock.
Philip [rising]: Perhaps it’s the postman with a cheque.
[ 7 ]
