CLARA (jumps up to the table, crying)
It's a rat—Oh, save us! (She scrambles up, banging her head on the lamp, which swings violently)
MRS. HOLROYD (who, with a little shriek, jerks her legs up on to the sofa, where she was stiffly reclining, now cries in despairing falsetto, stretching forth her arms) The lamp—mind, the lamp!
[Clara steadies the lamp, and holds her hand to her head.
HOLROYD (coming from the scullery, a bottle of stout in his hand) Where is he?
CLARA
I believe he's gone under the sofa. My, an' he's a thumper, if you like, as big as a rabbit.
[Holroyd advances cautiously toward the sofa.
LAURA (springing suddenly into life)
Hi, hi, let me go—let me go—Don't touch him—Where is he? (She flees and scrambles onto Clara's armchair, catching hold of the latter's skirts)