“But where can one go?” she asked anxiously. “After all, there is only the world, and none of it is very distant.”
“Still,” he said, “I should like to go with you—nowhere. It would be rather wandering just to nowhere. That’s the place to get to—nowhere. One wants to wander away from the world’s somewheres, into our own nowhere.”
Still she meditated.
“You see, my love,” she said, “I’m so afraid that while we are only people, we’ve got to take the world that’s given—because there isn’t any other.”
“Yes there is,” he said. “There’s somewhere where we can be free—somewhere where one needn’t wear much clothes—none even—where one meets a few people who have gone through enough, and can take things for granted—where you be yourself, without bothering. There is somewhere—there are one or two people—”
“But where—?” she sighed.
“Somewhere—anywhere. Let’s wander off. That’s the thing to do—let’s wander off.”
“Yes—” she said, thrilled at the thought of travel. But to her it was only travel.
“To be free,” he said. “To be free, in a free place, with a few other people!”
“Yes,” she said wistfully. Those “few other people” depressed her.