Henry—Your life is drawing to a close.
James—And from time to time you place your finger on a line of Nietzsche or Schopenhauer, wondering: “How did he say it all in two lines?” Eh?
Kate—As you say, [She looks at them slowly, one by one.] You are strange things. [Coming back.] But at least I’ve given up something—look at your mother, what did she give up for your father—a drunken husband——
James—A drunken lover—that’s different.
Kate—I can’t help thinking of that great gross stomach of hers.
James—Gross indeed, it won’t trouble him any more.
Kate—What’s that?
John—He cut his throat with a knife——
Kate—Oh, my God! [Pause.] How did he look?
John—You can’t satisfy your æsthetic sense that way—he looked—well, ugly, played out; yes, played out. Everything had been too much for him—you—us—you could see that in the way he——