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Walter, Eugene, 1874-1941

"Representative Plays by American Dramatists: 1856-1911"

Why, the room's cold [LAURA _rises, crosses
to window._], and there's no hot water, and you're beginning to look
shabby. You haven't got a job--chances are you won't have one. What
does [_Indicating picture on bed with thumb._] this fellow out there
do for you? Send you long letters of condolences? That's what I used
to get. When I wanted to buy a new pair of shoes or a silk petticoat,
he told me how much he loved me; so I had the other ones re-soled and
turned the old petticoat. And look at you, you're beginning to show
it. [_She surveys her carefully._] I do believe there are lines coming
in your face [LAURA _crosses to dresser quickly, picks up hand mirror,
and looks at herself._], and you hide in the house because you've
nothing new to wear.
LAURA. [_Puts down mirror, crossing down to back of bed._] But I've
got what you haven't got. I may have to hide my clothes, but I don't
have to hide my face. And you with that man--he's old enough to be
your father--a toddling dote hanging on your apron-strings. I don't
see how you dare show your face to a decent woman.
ELFIE. [_Rises._] You don't!--but you did once and I never caught you
hanging your head. You say he's old. I know he's old, but he's good to
me. He's making what's left of my life pleasant. You think I like him.
I don't,--sometimes I hate him,--but he understands; and you can bet
your life his check is in my mail every Saturday night or there's a
new lock on the door Sunday morning.


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