SCENE. _The same._ CECIL _as before, but sweltering in the
sun. Enter the_ SPIRIT OF THIRST.
THIRST. Oh for a drink! Water, anything! I could drink a bath full.
What a place to spend a June day in! When one thinks of all the drinks
one might be having, it is really infuriating. Gad! The very thought
of 'em makes me feel quite poetic! Think of the great barrels of still
cider in cool Devonshire cellars! Think of the sour refreshing wine
we used to get in Italy! And the iced cocktails of Colombo! And Pimm's
No. 1 in the City. Anywhere but here it's a pleasure to be a Thirst;
but here! Good Lord, it will send me off my head. How would a bath
go now, old chap? By God, don't you wish you were back in your canoe,
drawn up among the rushes near Islip, and you just going to plunge
into the cool waters of the Char? Or think of that day you bathed in
the deep still pool at the foot of the Tamarin Falls, with the water
crashing down above you, into the deep shady chasm. Even a dip in the
sea at Mount Lavinia wouldn't be bad now,--or, better still, a dive
into Como from a rowboat; you remember that hot summer we went to
Como? I'll tell you another thing that wouldn't go down badly either.
Do you remember a great bowl of strawberries and cream with a huge
ice in it, that you had the day before you left school, after that hot
bike ride to Leamington? Not bad, was it?
CECIL (_fiercely_). Shut up, you beast! Oh, curse this idiotic war!
Why are we such fools?
(_Curtain._)