You at the end, look up slowly at the girl, look away--about there--bored, weary of it all--cut! All right.

Not so bad.

Now this next bunch, Paul." Merton Gill was beginning to loathe cigarettes.

He wondered if Mr.
Henshaw would mind if he didn't smoke so much, except, of course, in the close-ups.

His throat was dry and rough, his voice husky.