_
DORA (_putting the china in her apron_): The idea of me
stealing.... I do go to Sunday school, anyways....
MRS. BRAMSON: So that's the game. Wouldn't think butter would melt in
her mouth.... You'll have to go, of course; I can't have that sort of
thing in this house--and stop squeaking! You'll bring my heart on
again. It's all this modern life. I've always said so. All these films
and rubbish.
OLIVIA: My dear auntie, you can't have a baby by just sitting in the
pictures.
MRS. BRAMSON: Go away, and don't interfere.
OLIVIA _goes to the left window_. DORA _rises.
(Triumphantly_) So you're going to have a child. When?
DORA (_sniffling_): Last August Bank Holiday....
MRS. BRAMSON: What?... Oh!
DORA: I 'aven't got a penny only what I earn--and if I lose my job
'ere--
MRS. BRAMSON: He'll have to marry you.
DORA: Oh, I don't think he's keen....
MRS. BRAMSON: I'll _make_ him keen. Who is the gentleman?
DORA: A boy I know; Dan his name is--'leas' 'e's not a gentleman. He's
a page-boy at the Tallboys.
MRS. BRAMSON: The Tallboys? D'you mean that new-fangled place all
awnings and loud speakers and things?
DORA: That's right.
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