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JOHN BEAL
Wouldn't worry? But, good Lord, the
situation's impossible. People would talk.
Don't you see what people would say? And
where could they go? Who would look after
them? Do try and understand how awful
it is. But it isn't. It's impossible. It can't
be them. For heaven's sake run out and see
if it is; and (good Lord!) I haven't brushed
my hair all day, and, and--oh, look at me.
[He rushes to camp mirror. Exit
ARCHIE.
JOHN BEAL tidies up desperately.
Enter ARCHIE.]
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