bitterness one sees on the lips of those who have
done what does not suit their mood. He goes out. She is left
motionless by the armchair, her throat working. Then,
feverishly, she goes to the little table, seizes a sheet of
paper, and writes. Looking up suddenly she sees that MRS. MILER
has let herself in with her latchkey.

MRS. MILER. I've settled the baker, the milk, the washin' an' the
groceries--this 'ere's what's left.

She counts down a five-pound note, four sovereigns, and two
shillings on to the little table. CLARE folds the letter into
an envelope, then takes up the five-pound note and puts it into
her dress.

CLARE. [Pointing to the money on the table] Take your wages; and
give him this when he comes in. I'm going away.

MRS. MILER. Without him? When'll you be comin' back?

CLARE. [Rising] I shan't be coming back. [Gazing at MRS. MILER'S
hands, which are plaiting at her dress] I'm leaving Mr. Malise, and
shan't see him again. And the suit against us will be withdrawn--the
divorce suit--you understand?

MRS. MILER. [Her face all broken up] I never meant to say anything
to yer.

CLARE. It's not you. I can see for myself. Don't make it harder;
help me. Get a cab.

MRS. MILER. [Disturbed to the heart] The porter's outside, cleanin'
the landin' winder.

CLARE. Tell him to come for my trunk. It is packed. [She goes into
the bedroom]

MRS. MILER. [Opening the door-desolately] Come 'ere!

[The PORTER appears in shirt-sleeves at the door]

MRS. MILER. The lady wants a cab. Wait and carry 'er trunk down.

CLARE comes from the bedroom in her hat and coat.

MRS. MILER. [TO the PORTER] Now.

They go into the bedroom to get the trunk. CLARE picks up from
the floor the bunch of violets, her fingers play with it as if
they did not quite know what it was; and she stands by the
armchair very still, while MRS. MILER and the PORTER pass her
with trunk and bag. And even after the PORTER has shouldered
the trunk outside, and marched away, and MRS. MILER has come
back into the room, CLARE still stands there.

MRS. MILER. [Pointing to the typewriter] D'you want this 'ere, too?

CLARE. Yes.

MRS. MILER carries it out. Then, from the doorway, gazing at
CLARE taking her last look, she sobs, suddenly. At sound of
that sob CLARE throws up her head.

CLARE. Don't! It's