CINDERELLA. Nice!
POLICEMAN. Good luck!
(She finds it easiest just to nod in reply.)
I wish I was a Prince.
CINDERELLA (suddenly struck by the idea). You’re kind of like him.
(He goes away. She sits down on the step to wait. She shivers. She takes the muffler off her neck and winds it round her more valuable feet. She falls asleep.
Darkness comes, and snow. From somewhere behind, the shadowy figure of CINDERELLA’S Godmother, beautiful in a Red Cross Nurse’s uniform, is seen looking benignantly on the waif. CINDERELLA is just a little vague, huddled form—there is no movement.)
GODMOTHER. Cinderella, my little godchild!
CINDERELLA (with eyes unopening). Is that you, Godmother?