front door on the L.
Sorel
Listen to this, Simon. “Love’s a Trollop stained with wine—Clawing at the breasts of Adolescence—Nuzzling, tearing, shrieking, beating—God, why were we fashioned so!”
She reads.; She laughs.
Simon
The poor girl’s potty.
Sorel
I wish she hadn’t sent me the beastly book. I must say something nice about it.
Simon
The binding’s very dashing.
Sorel
She used to be such fun before she married that gloomy little man.
Simon
She was always a fierce poseuseposeuse. It’s so silly of people to try and cultivate the artistic temperament. Au fondAu fond she’s just a normal, bouncing Englishwoman.
Sorel
You didn’t shave this morning.
Simon
I know I didn’t, but I’m going to in a minute, when I’ve finished this.