OLIVIA. Well, since he is my husband, we naturally want to know
something about him. Where is he now, for instance?
MR. PIM (surprised). Where is he now? But surely I told you? I told
you what happened at Marseilles?
GEORGE. At Marseilles?
MR. PIM. Yes, yes, poor fellow, it was most unfortunate. (Quite happy
again) You must understand, Lady Marden, that although I had met the
poor fellow before in Australia, I was never in any way intimate--
GEORGE (thumping the desk). Where is he _now_, that's what we want to
know?
(MR. PIM turns to him with a start.)
OLIVIA. Please, Mr. Pim!
PIM. Where is he now? But--but didn't I tell you of the curious
fatality at Marseilles--poor fellow--the fish-bone?
ALL. Fish-bone?
MR. PIM. Yes, yes, a herring, I understand.
OLIVIA (understanding first). Do you mean he's dead?
MR. PIM. Dead--of course--didn't I--?
OLIVIA (laughing hysterically). Oh, Mr. Pim, you--oh, what a husband
to have--oh, I--(But that is all she can say for the moment.)
LADY MARDEN. Pull yourself together, Olivia. This is so unhealthy for
you. (to PIM) So he really _is_ dead this time?
MR. PIM. Oh, undoubtedly, undoubtedly. A fishbone lodged in his
throat.
GEORGE (trying to realise it).
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