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<title level="m" type="main">The Dying Wife</title>
<author>Lanie Allen</author>
<respStmt>
<resp>Transcription and encoding</resp>
<name xml:id="la">Lanie ALlen</name>
</respStmt>
</titleStmt>
<editionStmt>
<edition>
<date>2019</date>
</edition>
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<publicationStmt><ab></ab></publicationStmt>
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<author>Lanie Allen</author>
<title level="a">The Dying Wife</title>
<date type="composition" when="1924">1924</date>
<title level="j">One Act Plays for Stage and Study: First Series</title>
<date type="publication" when="1924">1924</date>
<biblScope unit="pp">186–190</biblScope>
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<text type="drama">
<body><pb n="186"/>
<ab><title type="main">THE DYING WIFE</title><title type="subtype">LAURETTE TAYLOR</title></ab>
<ab>Laurette Taylor was born in New York City in 1887. At an early age she made her debut as an actress. She made her first appearance on the New York Stage at the age of sixteen. After some years in stock she returned to New York in 1909. Her first substantial success was in the part of Rose Lane in "Alias Jimmy Valentine" during the season of 1910. But it was in "Peg O' My Heart" (1912). written by her husband, J. Hartley Manners, that she achieved one of the greatest triumphs in her career. </ab>
<ab>Laurette Taylor has since appeared in the following plays by Mr. Manners: "The Harp of Life," "Out There," "The Wooing of Eve," "Happiness," "One Night in Rome," and "The National Anthem."—"The Dying Wife" is the only play written by Laurette Taylor.</ab>
<pb n="187"/>
<div><head>THE DYING WIFE*</head></div>
<div type="Dramatis_Personae">
<head type="main">CHARACTERS</head>
<castList>
<castGroup>
<castItem><role>Maurice Fitz-Maurice</role></castItem>
<castItem><role>Arabella,</role><roleDesc><hi rend="italic">His wife</hi></roleDesc></castItem>
</castGroup>
</castList>
</div>
<div type="act" n="1"><div type="scene" n="1">
<stage type="setting">Scene: <hi rend="italic">A Boudoir.</hi>
</stage>
<stage type="time">Time: <hi rend="italic">The Present.</hi>
<sp>
<stage type="business"><hi rend="italic">The action takes place in a charmingly-furnished boudoir. A flickering fire is sputtering in the grate, throwing fitful shadows across the darkened room.</hi></stage>
<stage type="business">Arabella,<hi rend="italic"> a fair, impressionable young woman of perhaps twenty-four or possibly twenty-five is lying on a luxurious couch covered by a Liberty wrapper. But neither the luxury of the couch nor the delicate texture of the wrapper bring her comfort. She is writhing in pain, evidently of an internal nature.</hi></stage>
<stage type="business"><hi rend="italic">Moving slowly about the room, glancing ever and anon at a porcelain banjo-clock, gnawing a somewhat stubby moustache, and occasionally throwing an interrogative and impatient look at the sufferer on the couch, is </hi> MAURICE FITZ-MAURICE <hi rend="italic"> He is a tall, uncertain man of middle age. He is evidently under considerable strain which he betrays by his sudden, impulsive movements, noiseless ejaculations and genuine irritation.</hi></stage></sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>(<hi rend="italic">After groaning audibly and breathing heavily for several seconds, calls</hi>.) Maurice! (<hi rend="italic">Waits; then, louder</hi>.) Morry!</p></sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>(<hi rend="italic">Goes to her</hi>.) I am here.</p></sp>
<lb/>
<note>*Copyright, 1924, by Laurette Taylor. All acting rights, both professional and amateur, are reserved in the United States, Great Britain, and all countries of the copyright union, by the owner. Performances forbidden and right of presentation reserved. Application for the right of performing this play or reading or in public should be made to Samuel French, 25 West 45th Street, New York City.</note>
<note>*(The author wishes to express her indebtedness to the Jugo-Slav homily "Knowledge is death when the wronged are instructed thereof."</note>
<pb n="188"/>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>(<hi rend="italic">Groping for him</hi>.) Where?</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>Beside you.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>It's so dark. I can't feel your hand. (<hi rend="italic">Clutching his hand</hi>.)</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>(<hi rend="italic">Eagerly</hi>.) Can't you? Is your sense of touch going?</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>I don't think so. This is your hand?</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice</speaker>
<p>Take care. You're crushing it. (<hi rend="italic">Takes his hand away, wrings it, examines it and then puts it carefully inside his vest</hi>.)</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>What time is it?</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>(<hi rend="italic">Triumphantly</hi>.) Eight minutes to eight.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>Why doesn't the doctor come? Why doesn't he come? Why doesn't he———</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>(<hi rend="italic">Glowering down at her.</hi>) He will not come.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>Why won't he? Why won't the doctor come?</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>You will not need him.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>But I do need him. I need him terribly. I need him———</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>His coming now would be totally unnecessary.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>Unnecessary! Morry! I'm going to get well. That's why he won't come. I'm going to———</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>You are going to die in seven minutes.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>Die! Die! (<hi rend="italic">With a loud cry.</hi>) I can't die in seven minutes.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice</speaker>
<p>When the hour-hand touches eight on the dial of that clock you will breathe for the last time, Arabella.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>(<hi rend="italic">Cries in fear and pain.</hi>) I can't. Why should I? I'm not ready to die. You won't let me die, will you, Morry?</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>Neither human power not mine can save you, Arabella. (ARABELLA <hi rend="italic">moans and sobs.</hi>) Is there anything you wish to say before your spirit passes?</p>
</sp>
<pb n="189"/>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>I can't believe it. I'm too young. Too— too———</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>Too—<hi rend="italic">what,</hi> Arabella?</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>We've been so happy together. So happy. Haven't we, Morry?</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice</speaker>
<p><hi rend="italic">You</hi> have been happy, I <hi rend="italic">hope</hi>.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>We have been so much to each other.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>You have been to me.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>(<hi rend="italic">Gasping</hi>.) I can hardly breathe. Can it really be that I———?</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>In five minutes, Arabella.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>There is one thing I must confess. Confess to you as I would to a priest. You must give me absolution, Morry. You must forgive and absolve me.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>Confess, Arabella.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>(<hi rend="italic">Gasping as her breathing shortens</hi>.) In Switzerland. Geneva. You remember? You would not climb the Jung-Frau. I wanted to, and I did. I <hi rend="italic">did</hi> climb it. I <hi rend="italic">did</hi>. <hi rend="italic">Indeed</hi> I did.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>Go on. Only four minutes.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>It won't <hi rend="italic">take</hi> four minutes. Four minutes! All the rest of my life telling you of my shame! The man who climbed with me—I did really climb the Jung-Frau, Morry! <hi rend="italic">Really</hi> I did. The man—Silvanus Saxon. I was excited. Everything was so—so—exalted! I felt so—so—above the earth—so spiritual.—And I—he—and he—. We were like children, Morry. Two little children up and up on the Jung-Frau! Alone in the world. And I forgot everything. The cold seemed like fire. The snow melted at the touch as rose-leaves. Rose leaves!! In my hair and in my brain. And I—And he—Oh, Morry!! We betrayed you! (<hi rend="italic">Cries; waits</hi>.) You say nothing. How you must love me! You don't reproach me! You don't even seem surprised that you own Arabella could have———</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p>I am not surprised.</p>
</sp>
<pb n="190"/>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>You are not? Morry! . . . Surely you did not think me capable of deceiving you?</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice.</speaker>
<p> I knew you had.</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Arabella.</speaker>
<p>You knew I had deceived you?</p>
</sp>
<sp>
<speaker>Fitz-Maurice</speaker>
<p>Yes, my darling. <hi rend="italic">That's why I put poison in your coffee</hi>.</p>
</sp>
<stage type="business">(<hi rend="italic">The clock strikes eight. On the last stroke </hi>ARABELLA<hi rend="italic"> sinks back on her luxurious couch. </hi>MAURICE FITZ-MAURICE<hi rend="italic"> frowns down on her, gnawing hes extremely stubby moustache. Suddenly he breaks into fiendish laughter</hi>.)</stage>
<stage type="mixed">Curtain.</stage>
</stage>
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