"Behind me in the wings they were prompting, whispering fiercely.... But I couldn't.... I stood there.... Then I said: I'll go off the stage. But I couldn't do that even.... My feet were shackled to the ground.... I seemed to have been charmed.... My hand fell to my side.... And then a panic came. My knees hit one another. My teeth chattered ... awful, awful....
"There was such a silence. The audience stirred, whispered.... Then some one laughed.... Never laugh, Shane, suddenly, with me.... I crumpled up. They rang the curtain down ... I stole away to Ireland.... Whenever I am not hating—enough, the thought of that laugh comes to me...." She shivered on her seat.
"That was only nervousness, Granya. Somebody got nervous and laughed."
"No, Shane, no."
"They talk of people laughing in the face of death. It's just a nervous action, Granya."
"I tell you, no, Shane." She grew vehement. "It's a cruel country, England. And Shane, they hate us Irish. As long as we are pleasant, witty, as long as we are buffoons ... but let us be human beings, Shane, and they hate us."
"Don't be silly, Granya!"
"I'm not silly, Shane. I know. They hate us because we have something they have not. The starved Irish peasant is higher than the English peer. He has a song in his heart, a gay song or a sad song, and his eyes see wonders...."
"But, Granya, we are only a little people, and they all but rule the world.... You are wrong. They don't hate us."
"Do you remember Haman, Shane; Haman who had everything: