MRS. BRAMSON (sleepily): Of course.
DAN (speaking quickly, as if eager to conjure up a vision): I remember those mornings—on some sea—very misty pale it is, with the sun like breathing silver where he's comin' up across the water, but not blowing on the sea at all … and the sea-gulls standing on the deck-rail looking at themselves in the water on the deck, and only me about and nothing else …
MRS. BRAMSON (nodding sleepily): Yes …
DAN: And the sun. Just me and the sun.
MRS. BRAMSON (nodding): There's no sun now, dear; it's night!
A pause. He drums his fingers on the Bible.
DAN: Yes … it's night now. (Reading, feverishly) "The ungodly are not so, but are like the chaff which the wind driveth away——"
MRS. BRAMSON: I think I'll go to bye-byes…. We'll have the rest to-morrow, shall we? (Testily) Help me, dear, help me, you know what I am——
DAN (drumming his fingers: suddenly, urgently): Wait a minute …
I—I've only got two more verses——
MRS. BRAMSON: Hurry it up, dear. I don't want to wake up in the morning with a nasty cold.