GUY. That's the worst of reading The Corsair. Put this cock-and-bull story of your mother's on the top of The Corsair and you're ready to imagine anything. We're in England now.
RUTH. So is Nottingham.
GUY. This is Lancashire. We don't have Luddites here.
RUTH. We have plug riots. I've read it in the newspaper.
GUY. Women shouldn't read newspapers. It's all right, Ruth. Our fellows won't get out of hand.
RUTH. You're driving them to desperation, Guy. I know the other side. I've seen. Guy, won't you have mercy on them?
GUY. I'll have another factory out of them.
RUTH. Have mercy on yourself and me. I'm so happy here. You've made me love you till I would cut off my hand to save you from a scratch upon your little finger. I shan't know peace again whenever you're away.
GUY. Upon my word, Ruth, it's too bad of your mother. She ought to keep away, and not come here disturbing you with wild tales that haven't a spark of truth in them.
RUTH. Are they wild tales?