(Holding up her glass) 'Le vin est tire, il faut le boire'! She drinks. The French words, which he does not too well understand, completing his conviction that she is a lady, he remains quite silent, frowning. As CLARE held up her glass, two gentlemen have entered. The first is blond, of good height and a comely insolence. His crisp, fair hair, and fair brushed-up moustache are just going grey; an eyeglass is fixed in one of two eyes that lord it over every woman they see; his face is broad, and coloured with air and wine. His companion is a tall, thin, dark bird of the night, with sly, roving eyes, and hollow cheeks. They stand looking round, then pass into the further room; but in passing, they have stared unreservedly at CLARE. (YOUNG MAN: Look here! I'm afraid you must feel me rather a brute, you know.) No, I don't; really. (YOUNG MAN: Are you absolute stoney? But you're so awfully well----) I had the sense to keep them.

Clare Monologue from The Fugitive: A Play in Four Acts

Rehearse Clare's monologue