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More Portmanteau Plays

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Год написания книги
2018
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You—are—my—Uncle Nathaniel.

NATHANIEL

Come, come, my boy. I can't hear you.

JONATHAN

Aren't you—Mr.—Nathaniel—Clay?

NATHANIEL (kindly, but as to a stranger)

Yes, I am Mr. Nathaniel Clay.

[Jonathan smiles one of his old half smiles.

JONATHAN

My name's—Jonathan.

NATHANIEL

Jonathan!… I had a nephew whose name was Jonathan.

JONATHAN

Don't you know me?

NATHANIEL

You must forgive me, little man—but I do not remember you. Boys grow so quickly.

JONATHAN

Don't you remember Zenobia?

NATHANIEL

Zenobia? Who was she?

JONATHAN

Don't you remember the little theatre?

NATHANIEL

Oh, yes, my nephew Jonathan had a little toy theatre, and he wrote a play called Zenobia.... He burnt them.

JONATHAN

Was it wrong to burn them?

NATHANIEL

I don't know. You see Jonathan ran away, and I have never seen him since.

JONATHAN

Do you blame him?

NATHANIEL

Well, I can't say. When a fine boy like Jonathan runs away from home, he may have what he considers a good reason.

JONATHAN

Don't you know why he ran away?

NATHANIEL

I think I know.

JONATHAN

Would you tell me why?

NATHANIEL

That wouldn't do any good, my boy.... If you had an uncle who liked you very much, would you run away?

JONATHAN

No, sir—not if I had another chance....

NATHANIEL

What do you mean?

JONATHAN

Don't you really know me?

NATHANIEL

I'm sorry—no!

JONATHAN (pointing to Hank)

Do you know him?

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