Oh, that seemed to me rather a sporting thing to do.
Michael.
A sporting thing!
Clare.
Yes. To make an utter ass of himself, and then carry it off with a string of lies. How are you getting on?
Michael.
(Surveying his handiwork.) I think that looks better.
Clare.
It’ll have to do, anyhow.... Now for the hooks. (Michael sets to work at the back of her dress.) Begin at the top. I daresay some of the eyes have got torn. I gave the dress an awful wrench on the tree. Do the best you can.... Oh, don’t fumble about like that!
(Michael’s hands tremble as he works. A pause.)