He takes up his pail and cloths and moves out through the windows.
FAITH puts another chocolate into her mouth, and taking up a flower, twirls round with it held to her nose, and looks at herself in the glass over the hearth. She is still looking at herself when she sees in the mirror a reflection of JOHNNY, who has come in. Her face grows just a little scared, as if she had caught the eye of a warder peering through the peep-hole of her cell door, then brazens, and slowly sweetens as she turns round to him.
JOHNNY. Sorry! [He has a pipe in his hand and wears a Norfolk jacket]
Fond of flowers?
FAITH. Yes. [She puts back the flower] Ever so!
JOHNNY. Stick to it. Put it in your hair; it'll look jolly. How do you like it here?
FAITH. It's quiet.
JOHNNY. Ha! I wonder if you've got the feeling I have. We've both had hell, you know; I had three years of it, out there, and you've had three years of it here. The feeling that you can't catch up; can't live fast enough to get even.
FAITH nods.
Nothing's big enough; nothing's worth while enough—is it?
FAITH. I don't know. I know I'd like to bite. She draws her lips back.