ANN. [In a deadly voice.] Nothing else?
[TIMSON accords her a glassy stare.]
WELLWYN. [Taking the brush hastily.] That'll do, Timson, thanks!
TIMSON. As I am 'ere, can I do anything for yer?
ANN. Yes, you can sweep out that little room. [She points to the model's room.] There's a broom in there.
TIMSON. [Disagreeably surprised.] Certainly; never make bones about a little extra—never 'ave in all me life. Do it at onsh, I will. [He moves across to the model's room at that peculiar broad gait so perfectly adjusted to his habits.] You quite understand me —couldn't bear to 'ave anything on me that wasn't mine.
[He passes out.]
ANN. Old fraud!
WELLWYN. "In" and "on." Mark my words, he'll restore the—bottles.
BERTLEY. But, my dear WELLWYN, that is stealing.