They are a little out
of his line of sight, and he has shut the door before he sees them.
When he does, his mouth falls open, and his hand on to the knob of
the door. He is a comely young man in Harris tweeds. Moreover, he
is smoking. He would speak if he could, but his surprise is too
excessive. BUILDER. Well, sir?
GUY. [Recovering a little] I was about to say the same to you, sir.
BUILDER. [Very red from repression] These rooms are not yours, are
they?
GUY. Nor yours, sir?
BUILDER. May I ask if you know whose they are?
GUY. My sister's.
BUILDER. Your--you--!
MRS BUILDER. John!
BUILDER. Will you kindly tell me why your sister signs her drawings by
the name of my daughter, Athene Builder--and has a photograph of my wife
hanging there?
The YOUNG MAN looks at MRS BUILDER and winces, but recovers himself.
GUY. [Boldly] As a matter of fact this is my sister's studio; she's in
France--and has a friend staying here.
BUILDER. Oh! And you have a key?
GUY. My sister's.
BUILDER. Does your sister shave?
GUY. I--I don't think so.
BUILDER. No. Then perhaps you'll tell me what these mean? [He takes
out the strop and shaving stick].
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