CURTIS--I had no work then--no purpose beyond myself. To sacrifice oneself is easy. But when your only meaning becomes as a searcher for knowledge--you cannot sacrifice that, Martha. You must sacrifice everything for that--or lose all sincerity. MARTHA--I wonder where your work leaves off and you begin. Hasn't your work become you? CURTIS--Yes and no. [Helplessly.] You can't understand, Martha! ... MARTHA--Nor you. CURTIS--[With a trace of bitter irony.] And you and your work? Aren't they one and the same? MARTHA--So you think mine is selfish, too? [After a pause--sadly.] I can't blame you, Curt. It's all my fault. I've spoiled you by giving up my life so completely to yours. You've forgotten I have one. Oh, I don't mean that I was a martyr. I know that in you alone lay my happiness and fulfillment in those years--after the children died. But we are no longer what we were then. We must, both of us, relearn to love and respect--what we have become. CURTIS--[Violently.] Nonsense! You talk as if love were an intellectual process--[Taking her into his arms--passionately.] I love you--always and forever! You are me and I am you. What use is all this vivisecting? [He kisses her fiercely. They look into each other's eyes for a second--then instinctively fall back from one another.] MARTHA--[In a whisper.] Yes, you love me. But who am I? There is no recognition in your eyes. You don't know. CURTIS--[Frightenedly.] Martha! Stop! This is terrible! [They continue to be held by each other's fearfully questioning eyes.] [The Curtain Falls] ACT III SCENE--Same as Act II. As the curtain rises, JAYSON is discovered sitting in an armchair by the fireplace, in which a log fire is burning fitfully. He is staring into the flames, a strained, expectant expression on his face. It is about three o'clock in the morning. There is no light but that furnished by the fire which fills the room with shifting shadows. The door in the rear is opened and RICHARD appears, his face harried by the stress of unusual emotion. Through the opened doorway, a low, muffled moan of anguish sounds from the upper part of the house. JAYSON and RICHARD both shudder. The latter closes the door behind him quickly as if anxious to shut out the noise. JAYSON--[Looking up anxiously.] Well? RICHARD--[Involuntarily straightening up as if about to salute and report to a superior officer.] No change, sir. [Then, as if remembering himself, comes to the fireplace and slumps down in a chair--agitatedly.] God, Dad, I can't stand her moaning and screaming! It's got my nerves shot to pieces. I thought I was hardened. I've heard them out in No Man's Land--dying by inches--when you couldn't get to them or help--but this is worse--a million times! After all, that was war--and they were men-- JAYSON--Martha is having an exceptionally hard ordeal. RICHARD--Since three o'clock this morning--yesterday morning, I should say. It's a wonder she isn't dead.