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mine. All over a baby that hadn't got used to bein' alive. Tain't as if she'd been follerin' her instincts; why, she missed that baby something crool. MR MARCH. Of course, human life--even an infant's---- BLY. I know you've got to 'ave a close time for it. But when you come to think how they take 'uman life in Injia and Ireland, and all those other places, it seems 'ard to come down like a cartload o' bricks on a bit of a girl that's been carried away by a moment's abiration. MR MARCH. [Who is reading the cuttings] H'm! What hypocrites we are! BLY. Ah! And 'oo can tell 'oo's the father? She never give us his name. I think the better of 'er for that. MR MARCH. Shake hands, Mr Bly. So do I. [BLY wipes his hand, and MR MARCH shakes it] Loyalty's loyalty--especially when we men benefit by it. BLY. That's right, sir. MARY has returned with FAITH BLY, who stands demure and pretty on the far side of the table, her face an embodiment of the pathetic watchful prison faculty of adapting itself to whatever may be best for its owner at the moment. At this moment it is obviously best for her to look at the ground, and yet to take in the faces of MR MARCH and MARY without their taking her face in. A moment, for all, of considerable embarrassment. MR MARCH. [Suddenly] We'll, here we are! The remark attracts FAITH; she raises her eyes to his softly with a little smile, and drops them again. So you want to be our parlour-maid? FAITH. Yes, please. MR MARCH. Well, Faith can remove mountains; but--er--I don't know if she can clear tables. BLY. I've been tellin' Mr March and the young lady what you're capable of. Show 'em what you can do with a plate. FAITH takes the tray from the sideboard and begins to clear the table, mainly by the light of nature. After a glance, MR MARCH looks out of the window and drums his fingers on the uncleaned pane. MR BLY goes on with his cleaning. MARY, after watching from the hearth, goes up and touches her father's arm. MARY. [Between him and MR BLY who is bending over his bucket, softly] You're not watching, Dad. MR MARCH. It's too pointed. MARY. We've got to satisfy mother. MR MARCH. I can satisfy her better if I don't look. MARY. You're right. FAITH has paused a moment and is watching them. As MARY turns, she resumes her operations. MARY joins, and
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