The Killing of Sister George Page #2

Out on a mission, are we?

How do you ladies pass your time?

How can I? She should never have...

- Is that what you girls really wear?

- We'll report you, won't we?

- We'll report her to the most Superior...

- Not in my cab, you don't!

Oh, my. Stop it.

What's the idea, getting in my cab?

I'm afraid you've got the wrong room, sir.

Come on, you.

Get a move on.

Good night, girls. See you in church.

He's a rotten bloody driver, I'll tell you that.

Come on.

Watch your language.

I've got two religious ladies in there.

Bye, Jean. Bye, Rosie.

Tell your dad to mind his gammy leg.

Our shelter...

from the stormy blast

Now it's my turn.

- Sister George.

- Come see, it's Sister George.

- Hello, Sister George.

- Hello, children.

Hello, my dears.

Hello, Sister George.

Hello, my dears.

How are you, then? All right?

Hello, Sister George.

Next time you're doing any praying...

don't forget to put a word in

for your grandmother.

We've done that, Mrs. George,

but it don't seem to do a bit of good.

It will, my dear. It will.

- What did you do?

- I left.

- You walked out?

- Of course.

I wasn't going

to let some illiterate b*tch make fun of me.

I've given four years' devoted service

to that series.

But you said yourself they don't like

contract artists having tantrums.

They've no right to treat me like this.

I'm a senior member of the cast.

If they wanted to write me out,

they should have asked me...

to come to the office,

and told me in the proper manner.

Don't be ridiculous.

Nobody wants to write you out.

- Applehurst couldn't survive without you.

- Don't you be too sure.

Applehurst is more than a village.

It's a way of life.

It doesn't depend on individuals.

Belt up, George. You talk as if it was real.

It is real, to millions of people.

Much more real than you, or I, or any of us.

There's many a stone in that churchyard.

Maybe to some people. I don't know.

- Who have you been drinking with?

- Drinking?

- Miss Whiplash came in from over the road.

- I thought you didn't like her?

- I don't. She was looking for you.

- Was she?

Anyway, don't call her Miss Whiplash.

Her name is Thaxter. Betty Thaxter.

Bet that's not what she calls herself

in those crummy little paper shops.

"Miss Whiplash, Corrective Therapy. "

Probably more like it.

Too rich for your blood, eh?

You're a prude, you know.

And what's more, you're a hypocrite.

That's what you are. A hypocrite.

Because I don't happen to get on

with a common prostitute?

I would say that Betty Thaxter

was an exceedingly uncommon prostitute.

- She enjoys her work, does she?

- I've never discussed it with her.

But anyone who succeeds in being kept

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