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PURL

I’d have quite an achievement on my hands then, wouldn’t I?

The river brought us a howling mad harlot-killer, and we

clipped his wings—with science.

BOWKER

Did we, though? That’s what I’m worried about.

PURL

(Bored)

Put your mind at rest, then; I’m sure you need it for other things.

He rises, moving to exit.

BOWKER

You’ll tell Mrs. Bentham what I said, though, won’t you?

(PURL brushes past him, not bothering to answer)

Won’t you?

(Nothing. Under his breath)

Bastard.

BOWKER stalks away in the other direction. A door SLAMS shut.

BRING UP the NOISE OF THE RIVER. HOLD a moment.

OVER:

JACK

Did he need to?

MRS. BENTHAM

Warn me? I suppose. Yet I’m uncertain whether it would have

helped. Like the doctor, with his theories—we tell ourselves tales,

then bend the facts to fit them.

JACK

For men such as the doctor, their work comes to depend as much

on f

aith as it does upon science.

MRS. BENTHAM