CAMILLE. Oh! Don't suppose any such a disagreeable thing! If you were not so strict, you would feel much 'appier.
BUILDER. [Staring at her] You're a temptress!
CAMILLE. I lofe pleasure, and I don't get any. And you 'ave such a duty, you don't get any sport. Well, I am 'ere!
She stretches herself, and BUILDER utters a deep sound.
BUILDER. [On the edge of succumbing] It's all against my—I won't do it! It's—it's wrong!
CAMILLE. Oh! La, la!
BUILDER. [Suddenly revolting] No! If you thought it a sin—I—might.
But you don't; you're nothing but a—a little heathen.
CAMILLE. Why should it be better if I thought it a sin?
BUILDER. Then—then I should know where I was. As it is—
CAMILLE. The English 'ave no idea of pleasure. They make it all so coarse and virtuous.