BODIE (in an agony). Cinderella, be careful!
(She is so dreading to do the wrong thing that she can only stare. Finally, alas, she produces the fatal packet from her pocket. Quiet triumph of our policeman.)
BODIE. My poor child!
CINDERELLA (not realising yet that she has given herself away). What is it? Go on.
POLICEMAN. That’ll do. You can stand down.
CINDERELLA. You’ve found out?
POLICEMAN. I have.
CINDERELLA (breathless). And what am I?
POLICEMAN (kindly). I’m sorry.
CINDERELLA. Am I—common clay?