OLIVER (shouting). Shut up, Tim!
SEPTIMA (angrily). Shut up about what?
OLIVER. Jenkins. Don’t rub it in. It’s much worse for Mother than it is for us.
SEPTIMA. Oh, all right! But you don’t gain anything by not being frank about it.
(The little storm dies down as suddenly as it began. There is another silence.)
OLIVER. Good Lord! I’ve just thought of something. (They look at him.) The money.
WILLIAM. The money?
OLIVER. All this. (He indicates the room) Who does it belong to?
WILLIAM. According to the provisions of your Grandfather’s will——
OLIVER. Yes, but it wasn’t his to leave.