Bloggs (with a deep sigh): Yes.... Has the fog lifted?
Hooker: No. It’s getting thicker.
Bloggs (with resignation): Ah, well. (Jemima (42) comes in, tiredly. She is the wife of Bloggs, a thin, prematurely grey-haired woman, haggard with cares. The fire welcomes her with a spiteful volley of lyddite.)
Jemima (wearily): You’re here, are you?
Bloggs: Yes.... The fire’s smoking.
Jemima (with a sigh): I’ll make it up. (She makes a listless attack on it with the poker. The fire goes out.) The coals are so bad. (She painfully rekindles it.)
Hooker: Yes.
Jemima (addressing Bloggs): That kid’s very bad again. She’s coughing something awful.
Bloggs: Better have the doctor.
Jemima: Perhaps Mr. Hooker would tell him on his way home?