You'll have your chance when you come back; I'll stand by
you for one, and you've plenty of other friends; but we can't help a
man who won't help himself, you know.
Bon (sulkily). Thank you, Pamela.
PAMELA (shaking him). Bob, Bob, don't be such a baby. Oh, I want to
laugh at you, and yet my heart just aches for you. You're just a
little boy, Bob (with a sigh), on the last day of his holidays.
BOB (after a pause). Are you allowed to have letters in prison?
PAMELA. I expect so. Every now and then.
BOB. You will write to me?
PAMELA. Of course, dear; whenever I may.
BOB. I suppose some beast will read it. But you won't mind that,
will you?
PAMELA. No, dear.
BOB. I'll write to you whenever they let me. That will be something
to look forward to. Will you meet me when I come out?
PAMELA (happily). Yes, Bob. So very gladly.
BOB. I'll let you know when it is. I expect I'll be owed to.
PAMELA. You must just think of that day all the time. Whenever you
are unhappy or depressed or angry, you must look forward to that
day.
BOB. You'll let it be a fine day, won't you? What shall we do?
PAMELA (rather startled). What?
BOB. What shall we do directly after I come out?
PAMELA. Well, I suppose we--I mean you--well, we'll come up to
London together, I suppose, and you'll go to your old rooms.
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