Susan reflected. "I can't go into anything that'll mean a long time," she said. "I'm waiting for a man—a friend of mine to get well. Then we're going to do something together."
Brent made an impatient gesture. "An actor? Well, I suppose I can get him something to do. But I don't want you to be under the influence of any of these absurd creatures who think they know what acting is—when they merely know how to dress themselves in different suits of clothes, and strut themselves about the stage. They'd rather die than give up their own feeble, foolish little identities. I'll see that your actor friend is taken care of, but you must keep away from him—for the time at least."
"He's all I've got. He's an old friend."
"You—care for him?"
"I used to. And lately I found him again—after we had been separated a long time. We're going to help each other up."
"Oh—he's down and out oh? Why?"
"Drink—and hard luck."
"Not hard luck. That helps a man. It has helped you. It has made you what you are."
"What am I?" asked Susan.
Brent smiled mysteriously. "That's what we're going to find out," said he. "There's no human being who has ever had a future unless he or she had a past—and the severer the past the more splendid the future."