“No—hi, stop! What are you doing? If you go on like that I shall go home.”
“But you didn’t say ‘with you.’”
“Why should I?”
“To please me.”
“I’m not sure I want to now.”
“Do.”
“I’m sure I don’t see why I should. But as you seem to’ve set your heart on it, here it is—‘with you,’ stupid.”
“It has no meaning now; how sad. You are very cruel, June. I used to think of cruel ladies and of kind ones when I was up here, but they were none of them like you.”
“Cruel ladies and kind ones? What do you mean?”
“Such as one used to see on the cinema. I used to grow so romantic over this view. I wanted to go into politics then. When you thought of all the people starving, there was nothing else to do. I became Prime Minister, of course, up here, and addressed huge meetings which thundered applause. Once, at one of those meetings, a lady became so affected by my words that she had a fit. She was carried out, and the commotion over it gave me time to drink a cup of water, which was most necessary. It was all very vivid up here. I was to lead a public life of the greatest possible brilliance. It is different now.”