MARGARET. Thats what I was in for.
BOBBY. What are you talking about? In where?
MARGARET. In quod.
BOBBY. But I'm serious: I'm not rotting. Really and truly—
MARGARET. What did you do to the copper?
BOBBY. Nothing, absolutely nothing. He exaggerated grossly. I only laughed at him.
MARGARET. [jumping up, triumphant] Ive beaten you hollow. I knocked out two of his teeth. Ive got one of them. He sold it to me for ten shillings.
BOBBY. Now please do stop fooling, Meg. I tell you I'm not rotting. [He sits down in the armchair, rather sulkily].
MARGARET. [taking up the copy of Lloyd's Weekly and going to him] And I tell you I'm not either. Look! Heres a report of it. The daily papers are no good; but the Sunday papers are splendid. [She sits on the arm of the chair]. See! [Reading]: "Hardened at Eighteen. A quietly dressed, respectable-looking girl who refuses her name"—thats me.
BOBBY. [pausing a moment in his perusal] Do you mean to say that you went on the loose out of pure devilment?