)
HARRY: (_who is not facing them_) Where's the salt?
DICK: Oh, I fell down in the snow. I must have left the salt where I
fell. I'll go back and look for it.
CLAIRE: And change the temperature? We don't need salt.
HARRY: You don't need salt, Claire. But we eat eggs.
CLAIRE: I must tell you I don't like the idea of any food being eaten
here, where things have their own way to go. Please eat as little as
possible, and as quickly.
HARRY: A hostess calculated to put one at one's ease.
CLAIRE: (_with no ill-nature_) I care nothing about your ease. Or about
Dick's ease.
DICK: And no doubt that's what makes you so fascinating a hostess.
CLAIRE: Was I a fascinating hostess last night, Dick? (_softly sings_)
'Oh, night of love--' (_from the Barcorole of 'Tales of Hoffman'_)
HARRY: We've got to have salt.
(_He starts for the door._ CLAIRE _slips in ahead of him, locks it,
takes the key. He marches off, right_.)
CLAIRE: (_calling after him_) That end's always locked.
DICK: Claire darling, I wish you wouldn't say those startling things.
You do get away with it, but I confess it gives me a shock--and really,
it's unwise.
CLAIRE: Haven't you learned that the best place to hide is in the truth?
(_as_ HARRY _returns_) Why won't you believe me, Harry, when I tell you
the truth--about doors being locked?
HARRY: Claire, it's selfish of you to keep us from eating salt just
because you don't eat salt.
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