"And all the beautiful things you told me?"
"That," he said cruelly, "is just a line I've found that women fall for. They're all so bored and so starved for beauty—as they generally put it."
"Even the garden?" Her question was barely audible through the sobs that threatened to suffocate her.
He looked at her and perhaps his expression softened just a trifle.
"What's outside," he said flatly, "is just a little worse than either of you can imagine." He tapped his temple. "The garden's all here."
"You've killed it," she wept. "You've killed it in me. You've both killed everything that's beautiful. But you're worse," she screamed at Patrick, "because he only killed beauty once, but you brought it to life just so you could kill it again. Oh, I can't stand it! I won't stand it!" And she began to scream.
Patrick started toward her, but she broke off and whirled away from him to the window, her eyes crazy.
"You've been lying to us," she cried. "The garden's there. I know it is. But you don't want to share it with anyone."
"No, no, Euphemia," Patrick protested anxiously. "It's hell out there, believe me. I wouldn't lie to you about it."