DOT. She's just sitting there.
CHRISTINE. [In a hard voice] As we're all doing.
DOT. She's so soft, that's what's so horrible. If one could only feel——!
KEITH. She's got to face the music like the rest of us.
DOT. Music! Squeaks! Ugh! The whole thing's like a concertina, and some one jigging it!
They all turn as the door opens, and a FOOTMAN enters with a tray of whiskey, gin, lemons, and soda water. In dead silence the FOOTMAN puts the tray down.
HAROLD. [Forcing his voice] Did you get a run, Ronny? [As KEITH nods] What point?
KEITH. Eight mile.
FOOTMAN. Will you take tea, sir?
KEITH. No, thanks, Charles!