THE FUGITIVE
A monologue from the
play by John
Galsworthy
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NOTE: This monologue is reprinted
from The Fugitive: A Play in Four Acts. John Galsworthy.
New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1913. |
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- CLARE: My nerves have gone funny lately. It's being
always on one's guard, and stuffy air, and feeling people look
and talk about you, and dislike you being there. I curl up all
the time. The only thing I know for certain is, that I shall
never go back to him. The more I've hated what I've been doing,
the more sure I've been. I might come to anything--but not that.
I'm spoilt. It's a curse to be a lady when you have to earn your
living. It's not really been so hard, I suppose; I've been selling
things, and living about twice as well as most shop girls. Lots
of the girls are really nice. But somehow they don't want me,
can't help thinking I've got airs or something; and in here [She
touches her breast] I don't want them! [Pause] Mrs.
Fullarton and I used to belong to a society for helping reduced
gentlewomen to get work. I know now what they want: enough money
not to work--that's all! Don't think me worse than
I am--please! It's working under people; it's having
to do it, being driven. I have tried, I've not been altogether
a coward, really! But every morning getting there the same time;
every day the same stale "dinner," as they call it;
every evening the same "Good evening, Miss Clare,"
"Good evening, Miss Simpson," "Good evening, Miss
Hart," "Good evening, Miss Clare." And the same
walk home, or the same bus; and the same men that you mustn't
look at, for fear they'll follow you. Oh! and the feeling--always,
always--that there's no sun, or life, or hope, or anything. It
was just like being ill, the way I've wanted to ride and dance
and get out into the country. [Her excitement dies away into
the old clipped composure] Don't think too badly of
me--it really is pretty ghastly!
MORE
MONOLOGUES BY JOHN GALSWORTHY |
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