OLIVER. God knows! At least, Anabel, we've gone through too much ever to start the old game again. There'll be no more sticky love between us.
ANABEL. No, I think there won't, either.
OLIVER. And what of Gerald?
ANABEL. I don't know. What do you think of him?
OLIVER. I can't think any more. I can only blindly go from day to day, now.
ANABEL. So can I. Do you think I was wrong to come back? Do you think I wrong Gerald?
OLIVER. No. I'm glad you came. But I feel I can't KNOW anything. We must just go on.
ANABEL. Sometimes I feel I ought never to have come to Gerald again—never—never—never.
OLIVER. Just left the gap?—Perhaps, if everything has to come asunder. But I think, if ever there is to be life—hope,—then you had to come back. I always knew it. There is something eternal between you and him; and if there is to be any happiness, it depends on that. But perhaps there is to BE no happiness—for our part of the world.
ANABEL (after a pause). Yet I feel hope—don't you?