MRS. TERENCE (in a conspiratorial tone): This is all.
HUBERT: But look here, we can't do this—
OLIVIA snaps open the lid of the larger suitcase with a jerk. A pause. They look, almost afraid. DORA moves to the back of the table.
MRS. TERENCE (as OLIVIA lifts it gingerly): A dirty shirt …
HUBERT: That's all right.
OLIVIA: A clean pair of socks … packet of razor-blades …
HUBERT: We shouldn't be doing this—I feel as if I were at school again—
MRS. TERENCE: Singlet …
OLIVIA: Half ticket to Shepperley Palais de Danse …
MRS. TERENCE: Oh, it's a proper 'aunt!