Philip: I should like to try and make you understand.
Ann: I understand everything—now.
Philip: At the beginning there are so many things. Surprise, discovery, exploration, enchantment. You are always going a step further—a delicious unacknowledged step—or rather you don’t go further, but you are always finding yourself further—further and deeper. And later, when you are tiring, there are still inflamed moments—moments of passion, meaningless victories of the senses over the heart, which are greedily accepted as proofs of love.
Ann: Don’t....
Philip: And with you there was nothing. No pride I could hurt, no vanity I could offend, no self-respect I could outrage. You gave your whole self to me, and therefore I was without weapons. There wasn’t anyone I could deal with.
Ann (icily): Is it usually very easy to bring a woman to breaking-point—to breaking-off point, I mean?
Philip (cynically): It can be done.
Ann: It has been beautifully done this time. There is nothing left, nothing at all, no mess of regrets and pangs and importunities.
Philip: Ann, Ann dearest, don’t!