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[Amused—dryly]

Possibly she eats too much.

[As he bends and carefully picks another sheet from the floor to place it as carefully on the table]

She doesn’t eat enough to keep a canary alive. It’s a dull, constant pain, she says. She’s terribly worried. She’s terrified by the idea of cancer. But, of course, that’s perfect rot, she’s never been sick a day in her life and—

[Sharply]

She’s showing more intelligence about her pain than you are.

[Bending down for another sheet, his voice trembling with terror]

I don’t understand—quite. Do you mean to say you think—?

[Brutally]

It’s possible.

[He has pulled out his pen and a card and is writing]

[Thinking grimly]

Explode a bomb under him, as I did once before only way to get him started doing anything.

[Angrily]

But—that’s nonsense!