CLAIRE: And perhaps you are. (_he smiles a little_) I feel so desperate, because if only I could--show you what I am, you might see I could have without losing. But I'm a stammering thing with you. TOM: You do show me what you are. CLAIRE: I've known a few moments that were life. Why don't they help me now? One was in the air. I was up with Harry--flying--high. It was about four months before David was born--the doctor was furious--pregnant women are supposed to keep to earth. We were going fast--I _was_ flying--I had left the earth. And then--within me, movement, for the first time--stirred to life far in air--movement within. The man unborn, he too, would fly. And so--I always loved him. He was movement--and wonder. In his short life were many flights. I never told anyone about the last one. His little bed was by the window--he wasn't four years old. It was night, but him not asleep. He saw the morning star--you know--the morning star. Brighter--stranger--reminiscent--and a promise. He pointed--'Mother', he asked me, 'what is there--beyond the stars?' A baby, a sick baby--the morning star. Next night--the finger that pointed was--(_suddenly bites her own finger_) But, yes, I am glad. He would always have tried to move and too much would hold him. Wonder would die--and he'd laugh at soaring, (_looking down, sidewise_) Though I liked his voice. So I wish you'd stay near me--for I like your voice, too. TOM: Claire! That's (_choked_) almost too much. CLAIRE: (_one of her swift glances--canny, almost practical_) Well, I'm glad if it is. How can I make it more? (_but what she sees brings its own change_) I know what it is you're afraid of. It's because I have so much--yes, why shouldn't I say it?--passion. You feel that in me, don't you? You think it would swamp everything. But that isn't all there is to me. TOM: Oh, I know it! My dearest--why, it's because I know it! You think I _am_--a fool? CLAIRE: It's a thing that's--sometimes more than I am. And yet I--I am more than it is. TOM: I know. I know about you. CLAIRE: I don't know that you do. Perhaps if you really knew about me--you wouldn't go away. TOM: You're making me suffer, Claire. CLAIRE: I know I am. I want to. Why shouldn't you suffer? (_now seeing it more clearly than she has ever seen it_) You know what I think about you? You're afraid of suffering, and so you stop this side--in what you persuade yourself is suffering, (_waits, then sends it straight_) You know--how it is--with me and Dick? (_as she sees him suffer_) Oh, no, I don't want to hurt you! Let it be you! I'll teach you--you needn't scorn it. It's rather wonderful. TOM: Stop that, Claire! That isn't you. CLAIRE: Why are you so afraid--of letting me be low--if that is low? You see--(_cannily_) I believe in beauty. I have the faith that can be bad as well as good. And you know why I have the faith? Because sometimes--from my lowest moments--beauty has opened as the sea. From a cave I saw immensity.