He is interrupted by a final shower of army gear down the stairs, with ROO’s voice as a triumphant accompaniment:

ROO: ‘And the angel of the Lord came down from Gilgal—!’

BARNEY raises his voice in an enthusiastic shout:

BARNEY: Angel of the Lord alright!

OLIVE: Stupid thing to do—stupid.

But BARNEY’s explanation has reassured OLIVE to some extent, and she turns her attention to picking up the army papers scattered by ROO.

Could have been arrested—both of you.

BARNEY: [recklessly] Would be worth it. Just to see Roo gettin’ rid of all them years of yes sir, no sir— [a new awareness] —and somethin’ else could make it even better. There’s a chance in hell, I reckon, that he’s gunna get away with it. Them provo bastards should be here by now?

He moves out through the street door left open by ROO, to check the view from the street.

They was comin’ in the front door of the pub while we was leggin’ out the back—looks like they’ve lost track of us. Could be that we’ve ditched the paddy wagon, and we’re in the bloody clear—

ROO: [a shout from above] Barney?

BARNEY races back into the house, to shut the door and call up the stairs:

BARNEY: Sugar luck—that’s what you’ve got—good old canefield sugar luck!

ROO: [from above] See if you can find some petrol?

BARNEY: Petrol? Where would I get—?

ROO: [from above] Anythin’ to make a fast blaze.

BARNEY: [to OLIVE] Now it’s bloody Guy Fawkes. You got anythin’ to start a fire?

OLIVE shakes her head, and BARNEY races off towards the kitchen. OLIVE takes the papers she has collected on ROO’s behalf to place them in safety on the mantelpiece. She turns in a distracted need of further activity as ROO appears on the stairs. He has washed away the last of the bloodstains, is dressed in casual civilian clothing, and displays himself with outstretched arms, a vital and alive figure.

ROO: Clothes I wore the day I joined the army.

OLIVE: Stop it, will you?

ROO: Say I love you: out of uniform, never been so happy, plain Roo Webber.

OLIVE: Cut it out, you’re scaring me—scarin’ me to death.

ROO laughs and strides down the stairs.

That hit on the head—you need a doctor—

ROO: To hell with doctors.

He takes her in his arms.

OLIVE: You could be delirious.

ROO: Delirious alright. Clear out of this sky-high cockeyed world.

OLIVE: [resisting him] Please, I mean it. You sound crazy.

ROO: No. Crazy part of it’s the war, and is where it ends. Not with them parades ’n’ ringin’ bells ’n’ all the big brass signin’ bits of paper—’s you and me, here in this room, the two of us together. That sound crazy?