MR MARCH is sitting in an
armchair, sideways to the windows, smoking his pipe and reading his
newspaper, with little explosions to which no one pays any
attention, because it is his daily habit. He is a fine-looking man
of fifty odd, with red-grey moustaches and hair, both of which
stiver partly by nature and partly because his hands often push them
up. MARY and JOHNNY are close to the fireplace, stage Right.
JOHNNY sits on the fender, smoking a cigarette and warming his back.
He is a commonplace looking young man, with a decided jaw, tall,
neat, soulful, who has been in the war and writes poetry. MARY is
less ordinary; you cannot tell exactly what is the matter with her.
She too is tall, a little absent, fair, and well-looking. She has a
small china dog in her hand, taken from the mantelpiece, and faces
the audience. As the curtain rises she is saying in her soft and
pleasant voice: "Well, what is the matter with us all, Johnny?"
JOHNNY. Stuck, as we were in the trenches--like china dogs. [He points
to the ornament in her hand.]
MR MARCH. [Into his newspaper] Damn these people!
MARY. If there isn't an ideal left, Johnny, it's no good pretending one.
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