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Balt. (stopping short in his walk and looking round.) Is he gone? (to FreeTrue [sic].) What did you think of that? Was it not admirable? (endeavouring to laugh but cannot.) The devil himself will now appear a novice in hypocrisy.

True. Faith! Baltimore, I cannot think him guilty: he wears not the face of a guilty man. Mrs. B. (perceiving Freeman's hat on the ground, which he had dropt in his confusion.) Mr. Freeman has left his hat behind him. (As she stoops to lift it Balt. runs furiously up to her and prevents her.)

Balt. Touch not the damned thing, or I will loath thee! Who waits without? hollo! Turnkey! (Enter Turnkey; and he, giving the hat a kick with his foot, tosses it across the stage.) Take away that abomination, do! (Exit hastily into an inner apartment.)

True. Don't lose hopes of fair weather, my dear Madam, tho' we are now in the midst of the storm. Follow and sooth him, if it be possible, and I'll go in the mean time to Freeman. (Exeunt severally.