The Cabinet Minister: A farce in four acts

by Arthur Wing Pinero

And the gray shore of Loch-na-Doich? Your mother says you adore it.

Macphail.

Eh, I am sick of Loch-na-Doich.

Mrs. Gaylustre.

And your feet don’t ache to press the heather?

Macphail.

It’s when they’re on the heather my feet ache. It’s poor walking, heather.

Mrs. Gaylustre.

Then you don’t watch the sun rise from the jagged summit of Ben-na-fechan?

Macphail.