Exiles: A Play in Three Acts

by James Joyce

RICHARD.
[Half to himself.] Our cottage.

BERTHA.
[Hands him the slip.] Here.

RICHARD.
[Reads it.] Yes. Our cottage.

BERTHA.
Your...?

RICHARD.
No, his. I call it ours. [Looking at her.] The cottage I told you about so often—that we had the two keys for, he and I. It is his now. Where we used to hold our wild nights, talking, drinking, planning—at that time. Wild nights; yes. He and I together. [He throws the slip on the couch and rises suddenly.] And sometimes I alone. [Stares at her.] But not quite alone. I told you. You remember?

BERTHA.
[Shocked.] That place?

RICHARD.
[Walks away from her a few paces and stands still, thinking, holding his chin.] Yes.

BERTHA.
[Taking up the slip again.] Where is it?

RICHARD.
Do you not know?

BERTHA.
He told me to take the tram at Lansdowne Road and to ask the man to let me down there. Is it... is it a bad place?