Right downstage, next
the sun-room, a large dining-table with four straight chairs round it.
Between the bedroom and the sun-room, a desk with books on it, a
cupboard below it, and a hanging mirror on the wall above. Above the
bedroom, a corner medicine cupboard. Between the hall and the right
window, an occasional table.
The bungalow is tawdry but cheerful; it is built entirely of wood, with
an oil lamp fixed in the wall over the occasional table. The room is
comfortably furnished, though in fussy and eccentric Victorian taste;
stuffed birds, Highland cattle in oils, antimacassars, and wax fruit
are unobtrusively in evidence. On the mantelpiece, an ornate chiming
clock. The remains of breakfast on a tray on the table_.
MRS. BRAMSON _is sitting in a wheeled chair in the centre of the
room. She is a fussy, discontented, common woman of fifty-five, old-
fashioned both in clothes and coiffure_; NURSE LIBBY, _a kindly,
matter-of-fact young north-country woman in district nurse's uniform,
is sitting on the sofa, massaging one of her hands_.
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