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The Skin Game (A Tragi-Comedy)

by John Galsworthy

Pages
about 83
Category
Literature & Fiction
Language
English
Reading time
1.5 h at 250 wpm
Start readingThe whole book, as cards or one word at a time. 51 min at 450 wpm in Read mode.

From the opening

SCENE I. The following day. HILLCRIST'S Study. Morning. SCENE II. The Same. Evening.

HILLCRIST'S study. A pleasant room, with books in calf bindings, and signs that the HILLCRIST'S have travelled, such as a large photograph of the Taj Mahal, of Table Mountain, and the Pyramids of Egypt. A large bureau [stage Right], devoted to the business of a country estate. Two foxes' masks. Flowers in bowls. Deep armchairs. A large French window open [at Back], with a lovely view of a slight rise of fields and trees in August sunlight. A fine stone fireplace [stage Left]. A door [Left]. A door opposite [Right]. General colour effect--stone, and cigar-leaf brown, with spots of bright colour.

[HILLCRIST sits in a swivel chair at the bureau, busy with papers. He has gout, and his left foot is encased accord: He is a thin, dried-up man of about fifty-five, with a rather refined, rather kindly, and rather cranky countenance. Close to him stands his very upstanding nineteen-year-old daughter JILL, with clubbed hair round a pretty, manly face.]

JILL. You know, Dodo, it's all pretty good rot in these days.

JILL. Well, you've got him. Now, Charlie--Chearlie--I say--the importance of not being Charlie----

HILLCRIST. In old days we only knew their Christian names from their tombstones.

HILLCRIST. About a quarter of a bad sport I've always thought out hunting.

HILLCRIST. [Whimsical] Gad! your mother'd have a fit if she knew you called her Chloe.

JILL. Dodo, you're narrow. Buck up, old darling, it won't do. Chloe has seen life, I'm pretty sure; THAT'S attractive, anyway. No, mother's not in the room; don't turn your uneasy eyes.

JILL. Yes, darling. You know what a nice boy is, don't you?

JILL. Well, I'll tell you. In the first place, he's not amorous.

JILL. Anywhere. You don't suppose I confine myself to the home paddocks, do you? I'm naturally rangey, Father.

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