Taylor.
We can all do with a cup of tea. Just have a look at the stove. It won’t take two shakes to light a fire.
Norah.
It seems hardly worth while. It’s so late.
Taylor.
[Cheerily.] Light the fire, my girl, and don’t talk about it.
[He goes out and is seen helping Sharp to unfasten the trunk. Norah, getting down on her knees, rakes out the ashes from the stove. Taylor and Sharp bring the box in between them. Sharp is a rough-looking man of forty. He has been a non-commissioned officer in an English regiment, and has still something of a soldier’s look.]
Sharp.
This trunk of yours isn’t what you might call light, Mrs. Taylor.