The cell? That’s it!
Blore.
[Looking round in horror.] Oh!
Hannah.
The “Strong-box” they call it in St. Marvells.
Blore.
Oh, my goodness, honly fancy! [Whimpering to himself.] And ’im accustomed to his shavin’ water at h’eight and my kindly hand to button his gaiters. Oh, here’s a warnin’!
Hannah.
Whatever is the matter with you, Edward?
Blore.