But he always picked himself up
like a little man.
MARY. Listen!
They all listen. The distant sounds of a concertina being played
with fury drift in through the open door.
COOK. Don't it sound 'eavenly!
The concertina utters a long wail.
CURTAIN.
ACT III
The MARCH'S dining-room on the same evening at the end of a perfunctory
dinner. MRS MARCH sits at the dining-table with her back to the windows,
MARY opposite the hearth, and MR MARCH with his back to it. JOHNNY is
not present. Silence and gloom.
MR MARCH. We always seem to be eating.
MRS MARCH. You've eaten nothing.
MR MARCH. [Pouring himself out a liqueur glass of brandy but not
drinking it] It's humiliating to think we can't exist without.
[Relapses into gloom.]
MRS MARCH. Mary, pass him the walnuts.
MARY. I was thinking of taking them up to Johnny.
MR MARCH. [Looking at his watch] He's been there six hours; even he
can't live on faith.
MRS MARCH. If Johnny wants to make a martyr of himself, I can't help it.
MARY. How many days are you going to let him sit up there, Mother?
MR MARCH. [Glancing at MRS MARCH] I never in my life knew anything so
ridiculous.
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