_] Only malaria?
FRAYNE.
[_Mournfully._] There is nothing else to nurse, dear Harry, on the West
Coast of Africa. [_Glancing at_ SOPHY.] Yes, by gad, that gal is
alluring!
QUEX.
[_Walking away._] Tssh! you're a bad companion, Chick!
[_He goes to the window and looks into the street._ FRAYNE _joins him._
SOPHY, _seizing her opportunity comes down to_ POLLITT.
SOPHY.
[_To_ POLLITT.] Valma dear, you see that man?
POLLITT.
Which of the two?
SOPHY.
The dark one. That's Lord Quex--the wickedest man in London.
POLLITT.
He looks it. [_Jealously._] Have you ever cut his nails?
SOPHY.
No, love, no. Oh, I've heard such tales about him!
POLLITT.
What tales?
SOPHY.
I'll tell you, [_demurely_] when we're married. And the worst of it is,
he is engaged to Miss Eden.
POLLITT.
Who is she?
SOPHY.
Miss Muriel Eden, my foster-sister; the dearest friend I have in the
world--except you, sweetheart. It was Muriel and her brother Jack who
put me into this business.
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