The Chaplain (decidedly): No. Nor can anyone else.
Both Justices (uneasily): I see. Yes. (Addressing the Governor): Can nothing be done?
The Governor: Nothing more. She’s under constant supervision.... There’s a visitor for her with our party; where is he?
Diggers (coming forward): Here, Sir?
The Governor: See if you can persuade her to speak to you.
Diggers (approaching her timidly): Miss Agatha, Miss Agatha ... won’t you speak to me, old Diggers? (She pays no attention.) Miss Agatha, I’ve brought you some cowslips from the old glebe be’ind the church. (Anxiously, to the Governor): May she ’ave them, Sir?
The Governor (blowing his nose): Of course. Of course. (Diggers produces a sorry mess of yellow blossoms.)
Diggers: They’re faded, but they’re from the old ’ome.... Won’t you ’ave them, Miss? (She makes no sign. One of the justices breaks down.)
The Woman Superintendent: Now, dearie, take the nice flowers. (But Agatha pays no attention.)
The Second Justice: Dear, dear, how sad. (Making a final effort): My poor young woman, you mustn’t take it so to heart. Your sentence, with good conduct remission, which I presume you mean to earn—though you won’t do so by throwing good food about—your sentence is really quite trivial. (She suddenly turns her eyes on him, with a baleful glare in them. He stumbles over his words and dries up): Yes, er, exactly.