In the wild garden of a gothic New Orleans mansion, an aging southern
START: DOCTOR: Mrs Venable? Did your son have a – well – what kind of a personal, well, private life did –
MRS VENABLE: That’s a question I wanted you to ask me.
MRS VENABLE: I haven’t heard the girl’s story except indirectly in a watered-down version, being too ill to go to hear it directly, but I’ve gathered enough to know that it’s a hideous attack on my son’s moral character which, being dead, he can’t defend himself from.
END: MRS VENABLE [laughs, throwing her head back]: Name it that – I don’t care – There’s just two things to remember. She’s a destroyer. My son was a creator! – Now if my honesty’s shocked you – pick up your little black bag without the subsidy in it, and run away from this garden! – Nobody’s heard our conversation but you and I, Doctor
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