MISS BEECH. [Rocking hey body.] Poor things! Poor things!
MRS. GWYN. Are you still fond of me?
MISS BEECH. Yes, yes, my dear, of course I am.
MRS. GWYN. In spite of my-wickedness?
[She laughs.]
MISS BEECH. Who am I to tell what's wicked and what is n't? God knows you're both like daughters to me!
MRS. GWYN. [Abruptly.] I can't.
MISS BEECH. Molly.
MRS. GWYN. You don't know what you're asking.
MISS BEECH. If I could save you suffering, my dear, I would. I hate suffering, if it 's only a fly, I hate it.