GEORGE. Of course, whether or not you go back to--er--Telworthy is
another matter altogether. That would naturally be for you to decide.
OLIVIA (cheerfully). For me and Jacko to decide.
GEORGE. Er--Jacko?
OLIVIA. I used to call my first husband--I mean my only
husband--Jacko. I didn't like the name of Jacob, and Jacko seemed to
suit him somehow. . . . He had very long arms. Dear Jacko.
GEORGE (annoyed). You don't seem to realise that this is not a joke,
Olivia.
OLIVIA (a trifle hysterically). It may not be a joke, but it _is_
funny, isn't it?
GEORGE. I must say I don't see anything funny in a tragedy that has
wrecked two lives.
OLIVIA. Two? Oh, but Jacko's life isn't wrecked. It has just been
miraculously restored to him. And a wife, too. There's nothing tragic
for Jacko in it.
GEORGE (stiffly). I was referring to _our_ two lives--yours and mine.
OLIVIA. Yours, George? Your life isn't wrecked. The Court will absolve
you of all blame; your friends will sympathise with you, and tell you
that I was a designing woman who deliberately took you in; your Aunt
Julia----
GEORGE (overwrought). Stop it! What do you mean? Have you no heart? Do
you think I _want_ to lose you, Olivia? Do you think I _want_ my home
broken up like this? Haven't you been happy with me these last five
years?
OLIVIA.
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