Helena—Mongrels may not dig up buried treasure.
Storm—[In a sudden rage.] You can bury your past as deep as you like, but carrion will out!
Helena—[Softly.] And this is love.
Storm—[His head in his arms.] Oh, God, God!
Helena—And you who like the taste of new things, come to me?
Storm—[In a lost voice.] Shall I have no joy?
Helena—Joy? Oh, yes, of a kind.
Storm—And you—are angry with me?
Helena—In the study of science, is the scientist angry when the fly possesses no amusing phenomena?
Storm—I wanted—to know—you——