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ALICE … one thing worse, but I didn't realize it till I came to you to be psychoanalysed.
BION That wasn't psychoanalysis. I didn't know any better then!
ALICE Do you know any better now?
BION Perhaps. I don't know.
ALICE Well, that's something, I suppose.
MYSELF Yes, something. Not much, but something.
ROSEMARY (still pre-occupied with her appearance, apparently lost to all reality beyond her immediate needs and those seem to be exclusively centred on her looks) I shall want you to come with me, Alice. I may need you when I go out in about half an hour.
ALICE Yes, Miss. Will that be all for the present?
MYCROFT The difficulty for poor Watson is he cannot adjust to these changes of translucency. Luckily I became used to them when the Bauhaus people were experimenting with the changes in visual planes. Even Sherlock became a bit mixed, but he should have known better. So ought our respected creator, Conan Doyle. But he got mixed up with that Spiritualistic nonsense just as Sherlock became entangled with ‘reality’ as he called it. Do you remember how he became tied up with ‘the woman’? Irene Adler, wasn't it? Silly ass.
ROSEMARY (appears again, though transparently. She speaks with a coarse accent) Wot's up now Mister Mycroft? I've not much time to waste because I'm going out with my girlfriend. Showing ‘er some of the sights seeing as ‘ow she knows nothin’ about them. Seein' she's a lady. Proper educated, I don't think! Wot's up Roland?