Where? What? In your hand.
Clara.
Nothing.
Karl.
Nothing! Is it secrets? (Snatches Leonard’s letter from her.) Give it to me! When your father’s out, your brother’s your guardian.
Clara.
I kept the thing in my hand, and yet the wind is so strong that it is blowing slates off the roofs. As I went past the church, one fell right at my feet. I nearly fell over it. “O God,” I thought, “one more”—and stood still. It would have been so beautiful. They’d have buried me and said it was an accident. But I hoped in vain for a second.
Karl (who has read the letter).
Damnation! I’ll smash the arm of the man that wrote that. Fetch me a bottle of wine! Or is the money-box empty?
Clara.