[Sitting upright and passing her hand over her back hair.] Were there a fire, we could crouch over it and watch the flames consume them one by one.
Quex.
But there isn't a fire.
Duchess.
[Rising, and taking the box from him.] Let us examine them.
Quex.
No, no, no.
Duchess.
Yes, yes. [Opening the box and gazing into it.] Ah, poor little objects! dead, yet animate; silent, yet, oh, how eloquent! Don't go away— [She overturns the contents of the box on to the table. They stand opposite each other, looking down upon the litter. She picks up a ring.] A ring—[thoughtfully] turquoise and pearl. [Recollecting.] Stockholm! You remember—that night you and I sat watching the lights of the café on the Norrbro—!
Quex.