CONFESSOR. In a minute. Is there no one you'd like to take leave of?
STRANGER (after a pause.) Yes. But it's beyond the bounds of possibility.
CONFESSOR. Have you ever seen anything impossible?
STRANGER. Not really, since I've seen my own destiny.
CONFESSOR. Well, who is it you'd like to meet?
STRANGER. I had a daughter once; I called her Sylvia, because she sang all day long like a wren. It's some years since I saw her; she must be a girl of sixteen now. But I'm afraid if I were to meet her, life would regain its value for me.
CONFESSOR. You fear nothing else?
STRANGER. What do you mean?
CONFESSOR. That she may have changed!
STRANGER. She could only have changed for the better.