“Its all right. You dont have to go till Bernice comes. And she wont be here till eight. I’m all dressed. I’ll let you know.” “Thanks.” Silence. The rustle of a newspaper being turned comes from the rear room. Muriel: Shame about Dan. Something awfully good and fine about him. But he don’t fit in. In where? Me? Dan, I could love you if I tried. I dont have to try. I do. O Dan, dont you know I do? Timid lover, brave talker that you are. Whats the good of all you know if you dont know that? I wont let myself. I? Mrs. Pribby who reads newspapers all night wont. What has she got to do with me? She is me, somehow. No she’s not. Yes she is. She is the town, and the town wont let me love you, Dan. Dont you know? You could make it let me if you would. Why wont you? Youre selfish. I’m not strong enough to buck it. Youre too selfish to buck it, for me. I wish you’d go. You irritate me. Dan, please go. “What are you doing now, Dan?” “Same old thing, Muriel. Nothing, as the world would have it. Living, as I look at things. Living as much as I can without—” “But you cant live without money, Dan. Why dont you get a good job and settle down?” Dan: Same old line. Shoot it at me, sister. Hell of a note, this loving business. For ten minutes of it youve got to stand the torture of an intolerable heaviness and a hundred platitudes. Well, damit, shoot on. “To what? my dear. Rustling newspapers?” “You mustnt say that, Dan. It isnt right. Mrs. Pribby has been awfully good to me.” “Dare say she has. Whats that got to do with it?” “Oh, Dan, youre so unconsiderate and selfish. All you think of is yourself.” “I think of you.” “Too much—I mean, you ought to work more and think less. Thats the best way to get along.” “Mussel-heads get along, Muriel. There is more to you than that—” “Sometimes I think there is, Dan. But I dont know. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to do something with myself. Something real and beautiful, I mean. But whats the good of trying? I’ve tried to make people, every one I come in contact with, happy—” Dan looks at her, directly. Her animalism, still unconquered by zoo-restrictions and keeper-taboos, stirs him. Passion tilts upward, bringing with it the elements of an old desire. Muriel’s lips become the flesh-notes of a futile, plaintive longing. Dan’s impulse to direct her is its fresh life.