| With these two, a simpler ending would suffice. Eliza touches his face, as she does now. Higgins asks for his slippers. Eliza moves to his tables of phonetic equipment, silently contemplating a future as a speech teacher, set up in the text. He clears his throat. She ignores him. He finally fetches his own footwear, waits for her to take note. Instead she plays the recording of her own voice, spellbound, moved, inspired. He waits, the moment between then doesn’t arrive. And the lights fade as Liza listens to her achievement, and Henry just watches her, his presumption of control over. |
