ROBERT. Dare! Why, wot d'you think I come 'ere for? . . .
VICAR. You! . . .
ROBERT. Yus—makin' myself unpleasant . . .
VICAR. Do you mean . . . Do I understand . . .
ROBERT. I mean as I've found my place, or I don't know a good thing when I see it!
AUNTIE. What! To go into that dreadful vault, and . . .
ROBERT. Why not: ain't it my job?
AUNTIE. But you said—perhaps—death . . .
ROBERT. It's worth it, it's a lovely bit of work!
VICAR. No, ten thousand times, no! The sacrifice is too much!