UNCLE EDWARD. Wool-gathering?
ALICE. I love a love story. And she's such a darling, and always, all
through the ages, all through what Clown calls the longest weekend on
record, she falls in love and falls in love ...and falls in love.
UNCLE EDWARD. Come, now, it's only storytelling. Don't let it get on your
mind. Here, I want to speak to you.
[Alice most obediently goes over to him, and he whispers to her.
ALICE. [By no means in a whisper.] But perhaps George is busy with the next
scene.
UNCLE EDWARD. Never you mind.
[Away she goes and through the curtains, leaving Uncle Edward to fill
his pipe. But she's back almost at once and full of smiles.
UNCLE EDWARD. [Anxiously.] Well, what did he say?
ALICE. He said:--"I was thinking of having one myself, Miss Whistler."
[And there follows her through the curtains a hand and arm holding a
foaming pint of beer, which she takes across to her Uncle. The beer
goes the way of all beer.
UNCLE EDWARD. [After wiping his mouth, most politely, with the cheerfullest
looking handkerchief you ever saw.
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