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Page 81
SOPHY.
I give you my sacred word--
QUEX.
[_Thoughtfully._] Tsch, tsch, tsch! [_Sharply, with a snap of the
fingers._] Yes--by Jove--! [_Pointing to the chair by the
writing-table._] Sit down. [_Imperatively._] Sit down. [_She sits,
wonderingly. He goes to the table, selects a plain sheet of paper and
lays it before her. Then he hands her a pen._] Write as I tell you.
SOPHY.
[_Tremblingly._] What?
QUEX.
[_Pointing to the ink._] Ink. [_Dictating._] "My lord." [_She writes; he
walks about as he dictates._] "My lord. I am truly obliged to you--"
SOPHY
Yes.
QUEX.
"For your great liberality--"
SOPHY.
[_Turning._] Eh?
QUEX.
[_Sternly._] Go on. [_She writes._] "For your great liberality, and in
once more availing myself of it I quite understand--"
SOPHY.
[_Weakly._] Oh! [_After writing._] Yes.
QUEX.
"I quite understand that our friendship comes to an end." [_She rises
and faces him._] Go on.
SOPHY.
Our friendship!
QUEX.
Yes.
SOPHY.
Our--_friendship_!
QUEX.
Yes.
SOPHY.
I won't.
QUEX.
Very well.
SOPHY.
How dare you try to make me write such a thing! [_He turns from her and,
book in hand, resumes his recumbent position on the sofa. She approaches
him, falteringly._] What would you do with that, if I did write it?
QUEX.
Simply hold it in my possession, as security for your silence, until
after my marriage with Miss Eden; then return it to you.
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