BLY. [Looking at MR MARCH, then giving a wipe at the window] What's
drink to one is drought to another. I've seen two men take a drink out
of the same can--one die of it and the other get off with a pain in his
stomach.

MR MARCH. You've seen a lot, I expect.

BLY. Ah! I've been on the beach in my day. [He sponges at the window]
It's given me a way o' lookin' at things that I don't find in other
people. Look at the 'Ome Office. They got no philosophy.

MR MARCH. [Pricking his ears] What? Have you had dealings with them?

BLY. Over the reprieve that was got up for my daughter. But I'm keepin'
you.

He swabs at the window, but always at the same pane, so that he does
not advance at all.

MR MARCH. Reprieve?

BLY. Ah! She was famous at eighteen. The Sunday Mercury was full of
her, when she was in prison.

MR MARCH. [Delicately] Dear me! I'd no idea.

BLY. She's out now; been out a fortnight. I always say that fame's
ephemereal. But she'll never settle to that weavin'. Her head got
turned a bit.