Ryan's Daughter Page #5

- Decent.

- Well, it's not, you know.

All right, then.

I'm sorry, Charles.

Put it on.

No. What does it matter?

No, you're right. Please, put it on.

No, well, I'll be

out again in a minute.

Six ones are six.

Six twos are twelve.

Six threes are eighteen.

Six fours are twenty-four.

Six fives are thirty.

Six sixes are thirty-six.

Six sevens are forty-two.

Six eights are forty-eight.

- Six nines are...

- Fifty-four.

Fifty-four.

Six tens are sixty.

Six elevens are sixty-six.

Six twelves are...

Seventy-two.

Now, your work is on the board.

You've all got your pencils.

There's no need for talking,

Kathleen. Now get on with it.

Get on.

Rose?

Rose.

- Where are you going, Rosy?

- Nowhere.

You're in the devil of a hurry there.

Now, stop.

Now, what exactly is the

trouble between you and Charles?

No. No trouble.

Are you asking me to

believe you're happy?

- I'm not asking you anything.

- Are you happy?

No.

Why not?

I don't know.

- Come on, Rosy, now give me a try.

- I don't.

All right.

Because I am stupid and conceited...

and self-centered and ungrateful

like you've always told me.

For I have everything

I wanted, have I not?

You have!

- What more are you wanting now?

- I don't know that, either.

- That's a lie.

- It's not.

How can I know?

I don't even know what more there is.

- You've got a good man now, haven't you?

- The best.

Well?

And you've got enough

money. Not much, but enough.

Aye.

And you've got your health.

- You're not sick?

- No.

There is nothing more,

you graceless girl.

- But, there is.

- There is not.

I know there is.

- There must be, Father Hugh.

- Why?

Glory be to God, why must there

be? Because Rosy Ryan wants it?

Aye.

Have you got any warm old clothes,

Rosy? Poor Patsy Wheelan's in a bad way.

I'll find some, Father.

Thanks.

Rosy, don't nurse your wishes.

You can't help having them,

but don't nurse them...

or sure to God, you'll get

what you're wishing for.

Major Doryan, sir.

Sorry, sir, I had to change a wheel.

Sir.

Get in.

In!

Come on, kids, out of it.

You were in Second Battle of

the Marne, weren't you, sir?

- Yes.

- So was I, sir.

- Yes?

- It was too much for me, sir.

I reckon that's why they sent me here.

Camp coming up, sir.

Slope...

arms.

Capt. Smith, sir.

Hey.

That's all we're short of,

that is. A crippled bloody hero.

Well, now, sir.

This is our communication

with the outside world.

Field telephone to the police

station down the village.

Now, then. Records.

Hello? Constable O'Connor here.

- Were you calling?

- No, no, Constable, just testing.

Well, now, sir, where was I?

Oh, aye. Records. Records. Transport.

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