HOBSON. I thought you had. (Sits again.)
DOCTOR (up to HOBSON, R.). Do ye ken that ye're defying me? Ye'll die fighting, will ye? Aye, it's a gay, high-sounding sentiment, ma mannie, but ye'll no dae it, do ye hear? Ye'll no slip from me now. I've got ma grip on ye. Ye'll die sober, and ye'll live the longest time ye can before ye die. Have ye a wife, Mr. Hobson?
(HOBSON points upwards.)
In bed?
HOBSON. Higher than that.
DOCTOR. It's a pity. A man like you should keep a wife handy.
HOBSON. I'm not so partial to women.
DOCTOR. Women are a necessity, sir. Have ye no female relative that can manage ye?
HOBSON. Manage?
DOCTOR. Keep her thumb firm on ye?