[Releasing her coat and thrusting his hands into his trouser-pockets.] Somebody else'll gulp the milk at the Café d'Armenonville——!
Ottoline.
And at the Pré-Catalan——
Philip.
And there'll be no one to gaze sentimentally at my old windows in the Rue Soufflot——
Ottoline.
[Softly.] Quarante-trois bis. [Sighing.] No one.
Philip.
[With a hollow laugh.] Ha, ha, ha! C'est fini—après tout!
Ottoline.