Sophie is a fortune teller who has been consulted by two men, Frank and Tom. Frank claims that Tom is trying to steal his girlfriend, and Sophie, who uses the fake name ‘Baroness Lemberg’ agrees to fake some hocus pocus over a crystal ball to frighten Tom so that he will back off. In this speech, she makes up any lies she can to convince Frank of her high standing and special powers so that he will pay a higher price for her services…

Mister, I know I don’t’ look so prosperous here in this filthy little room, but who do you think I am? Some silly gypsy bitch in a caravan, you can buy for five pounds? (With grandeur.) I practice here in this hideous town an art as old, as sacred as medicine. Look at this! (She shoots out her hand.) This hand has held the hand of a royal duchess in intimate spiritual communion. It has held the hand of a Prince of the Orthodox Church, who said to me, bowing to me, “Baroness, you are not just a fortune teller: you have the divine gift!” All right, I have—what is it?—“come down” in the world! Come down to Grinmouth! Down to pizza stalls and grease in the air! Dodge them cars and pop guns and all the fun in the fairground! Every day now—if I see anybody at all—my noble clients are people like old potatoes wearing paper hats saying “Kiss Me!” Whispering old spinsters, smelling of camphor—old red men with gin in their eyes, begging me to predict just one football pool to make them rich for life! Rubbish people, all of them, killing me to death with their middle-class dreams! But one thing, mister, I may despise them—but I never cheat them. Lemberg never lies! (A pause. Sophie glares at him.)  That’s all right. Go now, please. (Sophie sits staring after him, clasping her hands together in anxiety.) (Sotto voce) Five pounds! Five pounds, five whole pounds…! (Calling out) One moment please!(A slight pause.) I misjudged you, mister. I thought you were like him. No sensitivity or gentleness about you. But I was wrong…(she rises.) I see after all you have a faithful nature. I have come to believe that faithfulness in love is like real music—one of the marvels of the past. It is good to find it still exists. Look, there he is: coming back! (Grimly) Look at him. Ja: I see it now. A Taker. Arrogant Taker!…You’re kind about him, because you are a kind man. “Disarming,” you call him. Well, mister, he doesn’t disarm me! I see what he is. I see them every day, the new savages! I watch them on this pier, whistling up and down with their stupid fuzzy hair, stumbling along in their stupid high shoes, sequins on their shoulders, pretending to be amusing and eccentric—but really, underneath, just thugs! Working-class thugs! They think they own the world. Ja, and we let them think it. We – you and I – are the foolish ones, the romantics, the square ones as they see us. Well, for once one of them is going to get it! A Taker gets it from a Giver! (Briskly) I’ll help you, mister! I’ll keep your girl safe for you. I’ll frighten the sequins right off this monster of yours! Give me the envelope. (Stretching hand out to get it) quick, quick, quick, quick! (Get the envelope) It will cost you ten pounds.