ANNE (violently). Oh, why do men always want to smoke, even up to the moment when they’re going to eat? Can’t you breathe naturally for five minutes?
LEONARD (sulkily, putting his case back). I beg your pardon.
ANNE. No, I beg yours.
LEONARD. You’re all to bits.
ANNE. Nerves, I suppose.
[100]LEONARD. Nonsense! My Anne with nerves? (Bitterly) Now if it had been Eustasia——
ANNE (coldly). Really, Leonard, I think we had better leave your wife out of the conversation.
LEONARD. I beg your pardon.
ANNE (to herself). Perhaps you’re right. In a crisis we are all alike, we women.
LEONARD (going over to her). No, damn it, I won’t have that. It’s—it’s blasphemy. Anne, my darling—— (She stands up and he takes her hands.)