The Prostitute: Would you like me to come in to see you?
The Monster: Very well.
The Prostitute: Shall we say thirty bob?
The Monster: As you like.
The Prostitute: Come along then.
(She climbs through the window and they go off together through the door on the left of the stage. The curtains descend for a moment, then rise again. The Monster and the Prostitute are seen issuing from the door at which they went out.)
The Monster (taking out a cheque-book and a fountain pen): Thirty shillings....
The Prostitute: Thank you. Not a cheque. I don’t want any cheques. How do I know it isn’t a dud one that they’ll refuse payment for at the bank? Ready money for me, thanks.
The Monster: But I haven’t got any cash on me at the moment.
The Prostitute: Well, I won’t take a cheque. Once bitten, twice shy, I can tell you.
The Monster: But I tell you I haven’t got any cash.
The Prostitute: Well, all I can say is, here I stay till I get it. And, what’s more, if I don’t get it quick, I’ll make a row.
The Monster: But this is absurd. I offer you a perfectly good cheque....
The Prostitute: And I won’t take it. So there!
The Monster: Well then, take my watch. It’s worth more than thirty bob. (He pulls out his gold half-hunter.)
The Prostitute: Thank you, and get myself arrested as soon as I take it to the pop-shop! No, I want cash, I tell you.
The Monster: But where the devil do you expect me to get it at this time of night?
The Prostitute: I don’t know. But you’ve got to get it pretty quick.
The Monster: You’re unreasonable.
The Prostitute: Aren’t there any servants in this house?
The Monster: Yes.
The Prostitute: Well, go and borrow it from one of them.
The Monster: But really, that would be too low, too humiliating.
The Prostitute: All right, I’ll begin kicking up a noise. I’ll go to the window and yell till all the neighbours are woken up and the police come to see what’s up. You can borrow it from the copper then.
The Monster: You really won’t take my cheque? I swear to you it’s perfectly all right. There’s plenty of money to meet it.
The Prostitute: Oh, shut up! No more dilly-dallying. Get me my money at once, or I’ll start the row. One, two, three.... (She opens her mouth wide as if to yell.)
The Monster: All right. (He goes out.)
The Prostitute: Nice state of things we’re coming to, when young rips try and swindle us poor girls out of our money! Mean, stinking skunks! I’d like to slit the throats of some of them.
The Monster (coming back again): Here you are. (He hands her money.)
The Prostitute (examining it): Thank you, dearie. Any other time you’re lonely....
The Monster: No, no!
The Prostitute: Where did you get it finally?
The Monster: I woke the cook.
The Prostitute (goes off into a peal of laughter): Well, so long, duckie. (She goes out.)
The Monster (solus): Somewhere there must be love like music. Love harmonious and ordered: two spirits, two bodies moving contrapuntally together. Somewhere, the stupid brutish act must be made to make sense, must be enriched, must be made significant. Lust, like Diabelli’s waltz, a stupid air, turned by a genius into three-and-thirty fabulous variations. Somewhere....
“Oh dear!” sighed Mrs. Viveash.
“Charming!” Gumbril protested.
... love like sheets of silky flame; like landscapes brilliant in the sunlight against a background of purple thunder; like the solution of a cosmic problem; like faith....
“Crikey!” said Mrs. Viveash.