Ann: First I feel one arm around me, then the other.... I think of each finger of your hand and the features of your face getting closer and closer till they merge into my face, and your lips creeping about covering every bit of me with kisses—my neck, my eyes, my lips. And then I look up dazed and radiant and see some old man talking to me about the Tariff. Do you never do that?
Philip: No.
Ann: You are dreadfully wanting me to be sensible, aren’t you?
Philip: Yes.
[There is a pause.
Ann (nervously): Do Uncle Bill and Mr. Molyneux get on your nerves?
Philip: No.
Ann: They have hearts of gold, really.
Philip: Your universe is entirely populated by saints, and sinners who sin in order to become still greater saints.