BILL. I say, this is dangerous, you know.
FREDA. Yes—but I must.
BILL. Well, then—[With natural recklessness] Aren't you going to kiss me?
Without moving she looks at him with a sort of miserable inquiry.
BILL. Do you know you haven't seen me for eight weeks?
FREDA. Quite—long enough—for you to have forgotten.
BILL. Forgotten! I don't forget people so soon.
FREDA. No?
BILL. What's the matter with you, Freda?
FREDA. [After a long look] It'll never be as it was.