MRS HOLROYD (aloud, to herself): You know they’re not dry even now, though it’s been as fine as it has. (She spreads the shirt on the back of her rocking-chair, which she turns to the fire.)
VOICE (calling from outside): Well, have you got them dry?
MRS HOLROYD starts up, turns and flings her hand in the direction of the open door, where appears a man in blue overalls, swarfed and greased. He carries a dinner-basket.
MRS HOLROYD: You–you–I don’t know what to call you! The idea of shouting at me like that–like the Evil One out of the darkness!