Act 3 Flashcards
With my love and many glorious memories. Yours, Winnie.
When’s it dated?
November 7.
Over six months ago. She must be gone by now. But too late to answer it.
Much.
Poor Winnie.
She’d probably have been an awful nuisance anyhow. Don’t forget that your ship stops in Madera in a few days’ time. You better lock yourself in your cabin.
Not at all. If I run into her I shall say I never got the letter and that it’s my secretary’s fault.
It’s your fault. These letters have been stacking up for months. Here’s one signed Joe.
Joe what?
Just Joe. It’s dated March 2.
Let’s look.
He seems to of met you in the south of France.
I do get it out, don’t I?
Oh, it’s Joe.
That’s what I said.
Joe was marvelous. I met him at a bar in Marseilles. He’s dark green and comes from Madras. What does he want?
It’s at the end, after the bit about his sister having a baby.
Oh, yes – well, why didn’t you send him one?
Because I didn’t consider that Joe, Madras was sufficient address.
I’m damned if I can remember his last name.
Well, he’s out of luck then, isn’t he?
I wonder if I shall ever see my green England again.
I see no reason why you shouldn’t.
I might die of some awful tropical disease or be bitten by a snake.
I doubt if there are many snakes in the larger cities.
I can see myself now under a mosquito net, fighting for breath —
Who with?
Dear, dear Monica, you have no imagination. Just a flat literal mind. It must be very depressing for you.
I get by.
How many more there to do?
About 20.
I can’t bear it. Put them away until I come back.
You seemed to be in doubt just now as to whether you were coming back.
Well, I can’t answer letters if I’m dead, can I? Not a moments peace ever in my life — not even a tranquil hour when I can say farewell to my books and pictures — I slave and slave — and what do I get?
Nonsense, you’ve got the whole evening to say farewell to your books and pictures.
Fred: Have you finished with the tray? I want to be getting along.
What can I say? Is everything packed?
All except the last minute stuff, we can pop that in in the morning.
Is this poor Doris’s swan song?
How do you mean?
Nothing, Fred – it couldn’t matter less.
Monica: I must be going home.
Don’t leave me alone — I feel depressed
You were screaming for peace just now. I’ll be here first thing in the morning.
I wish you were coming with me. I shall be utterly lost with some dreary temporary African.
Is Liz coming to the station
No.
Why don’t you go round and see her?
You know perfectly well. She still in a rage. I haven’t seen her for a week.