[DOAML-interest] of Act

[Dachelet <sti...@uw...>]

E he checks himself. He looks at his plate.) No more, thank you. (The
simple island meal is ended, save for the walnuts and the wine, and
CRICHTON is too busy a man to linger long over them. But he is a
stickler for etiquette, end the table is cleared charmingly, though with
dispatch, before they are placed before him. LADY MARY is an artist with
the crumb-brush, and there are few arts more delightful to watch. Dusk
has come sharply, and she turns on the electric light. It awakens
CRICHTON from a reverie in which he has been regarding her.) CRICHTON.
Polly, there is only one thing about you that I don't quite like. (She
looks up, making a moue, if that can be said of one who so well knows
her place. He explains.) That action of the hands. LADY MARY. What do I
do? CRICHTON. So--like one w