(There is silence for
a little.) When I was a small boy, I used to pray very hard on the
last day of the holidays for a telegram to come saying that the
school had been burnt down. ... It never had.
PAMELA. Oh, Bob!
BOB. I suppose I've got about ten minutes more. But nothing will
happen.
PAMELA (in a hopeless effort to be hopeful). Perhaps after all you might--
BOB. Why can't the world end suddenly now? It wouldn't matter to
anybody. They wouldn't know; they wouldn't have time to understand.
(He looks up and sees her face of distress and says) All right,
Pamela, you needn't worry. I'm going through with it all right.
PAMELA. You must keep thinking of the afterwards. Only of the
afterwards. The day when you come back to us.
BOB. Will that be such a very great day? (PAMELA is silent.)
Triumphant procession through the village. All the neighbours
hurrying out to welcome the young squire home. Great rush in the
City to offer him partnerships.
PAMELA (quietly). Do you want to go back to the City?
BOB. Good God, no!
PAMELA. Then why are you being sarcastic about it? Be honest with
yourself, Bob. You made a mess of the City. Oh, I know you weren't
suited to it, but men have had to do work they didn't like before
now, and they haven't _all_ made a mess of it. You're getting your
punishment now--much more than you deserve, and we're all sorry for
you--but men have been punished unfairly before now and they have
stood it.
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