Tim: And they think you are cold or conventional because your wonderful goodness is a steady light, because you know nothing of ugly flares of passion, which first blind you and then leave everything dark.
Ann (shutting her eyes): Oh!
Tim: It is so difficult not to be selfish when one loves. It seems somehow to make everything so personal.
Ann (looking into distance): Yes.
Tim: You don’t say “How divinely she walks,” but “Is she coming straight to me?”
Ann: Yes.
Tim: There is a feverish unreality about everything, so that you feel that even physical pain would soothe your nerves.
Ann (under her breath): I know.
Tim (has not heard her): You want to be cruel ... or violent ... or something....