DORA: Oh, 'ere's a pocket-book. With a letter.
(She gives the letter to MRS. TERENCE and the pocket-book to OLIVIA.)
HUBERT: Look here, this is going a bit too far—you can't do this to a chap—
MRS. TERENCE (taking the letter from the envelope): Don't be silly, dear, your wife'll do it to you 'undreds of times…. (Sniffing the note-paper) Pooh…. (Reading, as they crane over her shoulder) "Dear Baby-Face my own …" Signed Lil….
OLIVIA: What awful writing….
MRS. TERENCE (reading, heavily): "… Next time you strike
Newcastle, O.K. by me, baby…." Ooh!
HUBERT: Just another servant-girl…. Sorry, Dora….
DORA (lugubriously): O.K.
OLIVIA (rummaging in the pocket-book): Bus ticket to Thorburton, some snaps …
MRS. TERENCE: Look at 'er bust!