ANSWER: How? Mr. Lamson, I know ten million more things about myself than you ever could, but you're asking me to explain things that even I don't know. How can I? Well, the night before Ann came to see me, Saturday, I had a time when everything looked possible. I wanted to have the baby, I was almost happy, I wasn't thinking of suicide—I even forgot about that poison. Next day, Sunday, I was imagining again that Ann might permit a separation so that he could be with me. Crazy, but that's how I had it lined up that day, that's why I telephoned her, that's how it looked right up until I began to talk with her. Then—card-house fell down.
QUESTION: You told her you were pregnant?
ANSWER: No, I didn't even get that far. I saw it was no use, waste of time. We had not enough words in common.
QUESTION: Not enough words?
ANSWER: Oh—oh—whatever I said meant something else in her mind, the way everything I say now means something else to you, heaven knows what. No such thing as a common language. We all talk in the dark. If a bit of light breaks we're frightened and try to blot it out.
QUESTION: I don't follow you.
ANSWER: Don't try. I'm not going your way.
QUESTION: This isn't an occasion for humor, is it?
ANSWER: People will tell you I laugh at the damnedest things.