Roger: I an hardly keep from crying. Don't go in, sir. Your house—this dear house—which you love—has for the last six months—
Richly:
Well—my house—for the last six months—
Roger: The devil is haunting the place, sir. He made us take up residence elsewhere.
Richly:
The devil is in my house?
Roger: Yes, sir. Haunts the place. In fact, that's what has forced your son to buy another house. We couldn't live there any more.
Richly:
You're kidding me. It isn't possible.
Roger: There's no sort of malicious trick they haven't put on me. Sometimes they mock me when I'm unable to move my feet. Sometimes they shave my beard with a red hot razor—and without fail every night they affront me with the stench of sulfur.
Richly:
And now I say again, you're putting me on.
Roger: Not at all, sir. What hasn't happened to me? We've brought the best exorcists in London. There's no way to force them out; this spirit is furiously tenacious—he's the one that possesses women when they have the devil in them.
Richly: A horrible thought has occurred to me. Tell me, I beg you, have they been in the wine cellar?