Mrs. Farrell monologue — Press Cuttings

I was thinkin that perhaps the Duchess might like her daughter-in-law's mother to be a General's lady betther than to be a charwoman. (Into the telephone.) Waitle youre married yourself, me fine lady: you'll find out that every woman is a charwoman from the day shes married. (She listens.) Then you think I might take him? (She listens.) Glang, you young scald: if I had you here Id teach you manners. (She listens.) Thats enough now. Back wid you to bed; and be thankful Im not there to put me slipper across you. (She rings off.) The impudence! (To Mitchener.) Bless you, me childher, may you be happy, she says. (To Balsquith, going to his side of the room.) Give dear, old Mich me love, she says.