Dead!
OLIVIA (struggling with her laughter). I think you must excuse me, Mr.
Pim--I can never thank you enough--a herring--there's something about
a herring--morality depends on such little things--George,
you--(Shaking her head at him in a weak state of laughter, she hurries
out of the room.)
MR. PIM. Dear me! Dear me!
GEORGE. Now, let us have this quite clear, Mr. Pim. You say that the
man, Telworthy, Jacob Telworthy, is dead?
MR. PIM. Telworthy, yes--didn't I say Telworthy? This man I was
telling you about--
GEORGE. He's dead?
MR. PIM. Yes, yes, he died at Marseilles.
LADY MARDEN. A dispensation of Providence, George. One can look at it
in no other light.
GEORGE. Dead! (Suddenly annoyed) Really, Mr. Pim, I think you might
have told us before.
MR. PIM. But I--I _was_ telling you--I--
GEORGE. If you had only told us the whole story at once, instead of in
two--two instalments like this, you would have saved us all a good
deal of anxiety.
MR. PIM. Really, I--
LADY MARDEN. I am sure Mr. Pim meant well, George, but it seems a pity
he couldn't have said so before. If the man was dead, _why_ try to
hush it up?
MR. PIM (lost again). Really, Lady Marden, I--
GEORGE (getting up).
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