Part 19 (2/2)

MARY. What's yours?

ROBERT. What's yours?

MARY. _I want my father_!

ROBERT. I WANT MY LITTLE KID!

[There is a second's pause.]

MARY. Your--what? . . .

ROBERT [brokenly]. My--daughter.

MARY. Oh! . . .

[She goes towards him: they face each other.]

[Softly.] Is she dead?

[He stands looking at her.]

Is she?

[He turns away from her.]

ROBERT. Fur as I am concerned--yus.

MARY. What do you mean? _Isn't_ she dead?

ROBERT. She's alive, right enough.

MARY. Perhaps--perhaps she ran away? . . .

ROBERT. She got took.

MARY. How do you mean--gypsies?

ROBERT. I _give_ 'er up. 'Ad to.

MARY. Why?

ROBERT. Look at me! . . .

_That_--an' the drink, an' the low wages, an' my ole woman dyin'!

That's why I give 'er up.

MARY. Where is she now?

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