H. (_Shaking a spoonful of potato chips into her plate_.) That's
not a pretty joke.
CAPT. G. No. It's a reality. (_Aside_.) I wonder if smashes of this
kind are always so raw.
MRS. H. Really, Pip, you're getting more absurd every day.
CAPT. G. I don't think you quite understand me. Shall I repeat it?
MRS. H. No! For pity's sake don't do that. It's too terrible, even in
fun.
CAPT. G. I'll let her think it over for a while. But I ought to be
horse-whipped.
MRS. H. I want to know what you meant by what you said just now.
CAPT. G. Exactly what I said. No less.
MRS. H. But what have I done to deserve it? What _have_ I done?
CAPT. G. (_Aside_.) If she only wouldn't look at me. (_Aloud and very
slowly, his eyes on his plate_.) D'you remember that evening in July,
before the Rains broke, when you said that the end would have to come
sooner or later--and you wondered for which of us it would come first?
MRS. H. Yes! I was only joking. And you swore that, as long as there
was breath in your body, it should _never_ come. And I believed you.
CAPT. G. (_Fingering menu-card_) Well, it has.
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