JONES. What for? To mak' me forget. (Going down to sit l. of table.) A must forget soomtimes. A'd go crazed if A didn't forget. (Sitting.)
PULLEN (at the gas), Blast.
LIVESEY. It's a weary life.
ALCOTT (rising and going up c.) It's a hell. Damn Thompson. Damn him an' all that's hissen.
JONES (protestingly). Damn him, aye, but not all that's hissen. That means Miss Thompson, an' she's a blessed angel.
PULLEN (coming forward). Bah! Her an angel, her wi' her 'ard proud mug goin' about as if we was dirt at 'er feet.
JONES. Aye, an angel, lad. That's her; 'ard as nails she looks an proud as Lucifer but tha's not wed; tha's not seed yon wench sittin' i' thy kitchen nussin' thy kids. Maybe she's never sent thee fine grub when tha was sick.
PULLEN. A'm never sick.
JONES No, but she'd know if tha wert, an tha'd know she knowed it, an' all. Not as she maks a fuss about it It's all done quiet. A dunno if Thompson 'isself so much as knows a word about it. Alcott (l.c. at back). Aye, that's reeght. Sorry A cursed 'er. Theer were a two three bottles of champagne an' soom jelly an' stuff waitin to whoam for me last neeght when A get theer from docto? Not a word about who'd sent them, but——
PULLEN. Eh! 'Ere lads, A feels bad. Took sudden, some road.