BRAMSON: You're a proper one to talk about next summer, when Dora
there'll be up hill and down dale with a perambulator. Now look here,
young man, immorality--
MRS. TERENCE _comes in from the kitchen_.
MRS. TERENCE: The butcher wants paying. And 'e says there's men
ferreting at the bottom of the garden looking for that Mrs. Chalfont
and do you know about it.
MRS. BRAMSON (_furious_): Well, they won't ferret long, not among
my pampas grass!... (_Calling_) Olivia!... Oh, that girl's never
there. (_Wheeling herself furiously towards the kitchen as_ MRS.
TERENCE _makes a move to help her_) Leave me alone. I don't want
to be pushed into the nettles to-day, thank you ... (_Shouting loudly
as she disappears into the kitchen_) Come out of my garden, you!
Come out!
MRS. TERENCE (_looking towards the kitchen as_ DAN _takes the
stub from behind his ear and lights it_): Won't let me pay the
butcher, so I won't know where she keeps 'er purse; but I do know, so
put that in your pipe and smoke it!
DAN (_going to her and jabbing her playfully in the arm_): They
say down at the Tallboys she's got enough inside of 'er purse, too.
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