LARRY DARRANT
enters and stands half lost in the curtain over the door. A
thin figure, with a worn, high cheek-boned face, deep-sunk blue
eyes and wavy hair all ruffled--a face which still has a certain
beauty. He moves inwards along the wall, stands still again and
utters a gasping sigh. KEITH stirs in his chair.]
KEITH. Who's there?
LARRY. [In a stifled voice] Only I--Larry.
KEITH. [Half-waked] Come in! I was asleep. [He does not turn his
head, staring sleepily at the fire.]
The sound of LARRY's breathing can be heard.
[Turning his head a little] Well, Larry, what is it?
LARRY comes skirting along the wall, as if craving its support,
outside the radius of the light.
[Staring] Are you ill?
LARRY stands still again and heaves a deep sigh.
KEITH. [Rising, with his back to the fire, and staring at his
brother] What is it, man? [Then with a brutality born of nerves
suddenly ruffled] Have you committed a murder that you stand there
like a fish?
LARRY.
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