George Winter.
[Reflectively.] I hadn’t thought of that. You can shoot yourself.
Etchingham.
[Bitterly sarcastic.] I’m obliged to you for the permission.
George Winter.
We drove him too far, Fred. We’ve made a mess of it.
Etchingham.
You have, a confounded mess.
[He gets up and hobbles across the room towards the door. George Winter intercepts him.
George Winter.