PAMELA (madly). What? What??? (TULLY recoils—PAMELA follows him up to C.). You expect me to sit at home while my husband goes out with little—bits—of—fluff!!!
TULLY (pulls out handkerchief with pieces of paper). Well—you know—it’s a term—a joke—(Tries to conceal pieces of paper with his feet.)
PAMELA. I’m surprised, Mr. Tully, that your mission teaching should have put such ideas into your head—(crossing to table picking up case) as little bits of—fluff!—Good day!
(Exit PAMELA down L., banging door behind her. The front door is then heard to slam. TULLY stands looking into space for a time—then proceeds to pick up torn paper.)
JOHN (cautiously peeping in door R.). What are you doing?
TULLY. Sweeping up “Covent Garden.”
JOHN (crossing to R.C.). Has she gone?
TULLY. Y-y-es. I’m so sorry, John.
JOHN (crosses to TULLY). That’s all through your meddling in things that don’t concern you.
TULLY. Did you really sleep in six different beds?