I've kept on saying to myself: No,
murder's a thing we read about in the papers; it isn't real life; it
can't touch us. ... But it can. And it's here. All round us. In the
forest ... in this house. We're ... living with it. (_After a pause,
rising decisively_) Bring his luggage in here, will you, Mrs.
Terence?
MRS. TERENCE (_staggered_): 'Is luggage? (_Recovering, to_
DORA) Give me a 'and.
_Wide-eyed, she goes into the kitchen, followed by_ DORA.
HUBERT: I say, this is a bit thick, you know--spying--
OLIVIA (_urgently_): We may never have the house to ourselves
again.
_She runs to each window and looks out across the forest._ MRS.
TERENCE _returns carrying luggage: one large and one small
suitcase_. DORA _follows, lugging an old-fashioned thick leather
hat-box_. MRS. TERENCE _places the suitcases on the table_;
DORA _plants the hat-box in the middle of the floor._
MRS. TERENCE (_in a conspiratorial tone_): This is all.
HUBERT: But look here, we can't do this--
OLIVIA _snaps open the lid of the larger suitcase with a jerk.
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