MALISE. [Gruffly] H'm! Why a shop?
CLARE. References. I didn't want to tell more lies than I could help; a married woman on strike can't tell the truth, you know. And I can't typewrite or do shorthand yet. And chorus—I thought—you wouldn't like.
MALISE. I? What have I——? [He checks himself ] Have men been brutes?
CLARE. [Stealing a look at him] One followed me a lot. He caught hold of my arm one evening. I just took this out [She draws out her hatpin and holds it like a dagger, her lip drawn back as the lips of a dog going to bite] and said: "Will you leave me alone, please?" And he did. It was rather nice. And there was one quite decent little man in the shop—I was sorry for him—such a humble little man!
MALISE. Poor devil—it's hard not to wish for the moon.
At the tone of his voice CLARE looks up at him; his face is turned away.
CLARE. [Softly] How have you been? Working very hard?
MALISE. As hard as God will let me.
CLARE. [Stealing another look] Have you any typewriting I could do? I could learn, and I've still got a brooch I could sell. Which is the best kind?
MALISE. I had a catalogue of them somewhere.