SNOW WHITE
Flick. How long has she been gone?
The Pedlar-Woman. A matter of seconds, your honour. Fifty seconds, maybe, or fifty-one or fifty-two or fifty-three or fifty-four . . .
Blick. [Interrupting.] Well, you need stay no longer. Go!
The Pedlar-Woman. Yes, your honours. Certainly, your honours. [She goes courtesying to the door, but turns to say,] Could you tell a poor peddling body how fart it might be to the next town? Is it fifty-five miles now, or fifty-six or fifty-seven or . . .
Blick. [Fiercely.] Be off, or we'll lay hands on you!
- [With a little scream the Pedlar-Woman makes off; but as she passes the window she is heard still counting "fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty, sixty-one. . ." till her voice dies away in the distance.
Blick. Brothers, something's wrong! What errand could Snow White have in the forest?
