Helena. (Backwards in the doorway from R.) Nana, come and do up my dress.
Nana. I’m coming. So you’re up at last. (Fastening Helena’s dress) My gracious, what brutes!
Helena. Who? (Turning.)
Nana. If you want to turn around, then turn around, but I shan’t fasten you up.
Helena. (Turns back) What are you grumbling about now?
Nana. These dreadful creatures, these heathens—
Helena. (Turning toward Nana again) The Robots?
Nana. I wouldn’t even call them by name.
Helena. What’s happened?
Nana. Another of them here has caught it. He began to smash up the statues and pictures in the drawing room; gnashed his teeth; foamed at the mouth. Worse than an animal.