CURTIS—[Distractedly.] I don't want to remember anything! [Wildly.] Please, for God's sake, leave me alone!
SHEFFIELD—[Coldly.] I am sorry, Curt, but you cannot act as if you were alone in this affair.
CURTIS—Why not? Am I not alone—more alone this minute than any creature on God's earth?
SHEFFIELD—[Soothingly.] In your great grief. Yes, yes, of course. We all appreciate—and we hate to—[Persuasively.] Yes, it would be much wiser to postpone these practical considerations until you are in a calmer mood. And if you will only give us the chance—why not put off this precipitate departure—for a month, say—and in the meantime—
CURTIS—[Harshly.] I am going when I said I was. I must get away from this horrible hole—as far away as I can. I must get back to my work for only in it will I find Martha again. But you—you can't understand that. What is the good of all this talking which leads nowhere?
SHEFFIELD—[Coldly.] You're mistaken. It leads to this: Do you understand that your running away from this child—on the very day of its mother's funeral!—will have a very queer appearance in the eyes of the world?
EMILY—And what are you going to do with the baby, Curt? Do you think you can run off regardless and leave it here—on our hands?
CURTIS—[Distractedly.] I'll give it this home. And someone—anyone—Esther, Lily—can appoint a nurse to live here and— [Breaking down.] Oh, don't bother me!
SHEFFIELD—[Sharply.] In the world's eyes, it will appear precious like a desertion on your part.
CURTIS—Oh, arrange it to suit yourselves—anything you wish—