It is the afternoon of Mrs. McLeavy’s funeral and her coffin stands
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START: Fay: Wake up. Stop dreaming. The cars will be here soon. I’ve brought you a flower.
McLeavy: That’s a nice thought.
Fay: I’m a nice person. One in a million.
McLeavy: Are those Mrs McLeavy’s slippers?
[... …]
END: Fay: Your son is a thorn in my flesh. The contents of his dressing-table are in indictment of his way of life. Not only firearms, but family-planning equipment. A Papal dispensation is needed to dust his room.
Joe Orton, Loot, Orton: The Complete Plays, Methuen, 1983, pp. 195-197
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