_] Shall I bring
that Russian pianist around to play for you some day next week?
BLANCHE. Do--I want some music.
WARDEN. Only let me know what day. [_He goes out Left._ BLANCHE _sits by
the table and opens the case. She looks first at a memoranda and reads
what is on the outside._] A business memoranda. Lists of bonds. [_She
opens and looks at the next paper only a second, and then closes it._]
This, Mr. Mason will understand better than I. [_She puts it back in the
pocket case. She finds a photograph in the case._] My picture!--[_She
looks for others, but finds none._]--and _only_ mine! Oh, father!...
[_She wipes away tears from her eyes so as to see the picture, which is
an old one._] Father, I returned _your_ love. [_She reads on the back of
photograph._] "Blanche, my darling daughter, at fourteen years of age!"
That's mine! that's my own! [_And she puts the picture away separately.
She takes up a small packet of very old love-letters tied with faded old
pink tape._] Old letters from mother; they must be her love-letters. She
shall have them,--they may soften her. [_She takes up a slip of paper
and reads on the outside._] This is something for Mason, too. [_She puts
it back in the case. She takes up a sealed envelope, blank.
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