OLIVIA: I'm sure of it.
MRS. TERENCE: But 'es's such a—such a ordinary boy—
OLIVIA: That's just it—and then he's suddenly so … extraordinary.
I've felt it ever since I heard him sing that song—I told you—
HUBERT: That "mighty-lak-a-rose" thing, you mean? Oh, but it's a pretty well-known one—
OLIVIA: It's more than that. I've kept on saying to myself: No, murder's a thing we read about in the papers; it isn't real life; it can't touch us. … But it can. And it's here. All round us. In the forest … in this house. We're … living with it. (After a pause, rising decisively) Bring his luggage in here, will you, Mrs. Terence?
MRS. TERENCE (staggered): 'Is luggage? (Recovering, to
DORA) Give me a 'and.
Wide-eyed, she goes into the kitchen, followed by DORA.
HUBERT: I say, this is a bit thick, you know—spying—
OLIVIA (urgently): We may never have the house to ourselves again.
She runs to each window and looks out across the forest. MRS. TERENCE returns carrying luggage: one large and one small suitcase. DORA follows, lugging an old-fashioned thick leather hat-box. MRS. TERENCE places the suitcases on the table; DORA plants the hat-box in the middle of the floor.