Drawn Up From Deep Places

(Sick)

Is that . . . ?

PURL

No.

(Shakes head, tries to close it again)

Oh, no.

BOWKER

(Grabbing it from him)

Let’s us just all have a good look, shall we?

He spills the contents out across PURL’S desk: A RATTLE OF KNIVES, blunted by cloth, plus the sound of a GLASS JAR FULL OF LIQUID, sliding over wood.

POACHER

God, what a stink!

MRS. BENTHAM

So much—blood.

LEAN

What’s that in the jar?

SECOND BOY

I think it’s . . . a baby. Before it’s been born, like.

BOWKER

That last one—she was expecting, or so they said.

LEAN

What d’you mean?

BOWKER

Obvious, isn’t it? What kind of doctor hauls around a bloody

bunch of knives and a baby in a bloody jar?

PURL

Bowker, please don’t do this.

BOWKER

Oh, it’s not what I’ve done, doctor. Sir.

MRS. BENTHAM