But couldn't I just desert you—without anything horrid?
John
[reads]
No money to desert with.
Lucy
[springs up—at bay]
You won't let me escape decently when I tell you I don't want to stay? When I tell you I can't stand being under your roof any longer? When I tell you I'm sick of this life?
John
[gets up calmly]
But, you see, I can stand it. I want you to stay. I'm not sick of it. You belong to me.