LARRY. If you had seen him, as I have, all day, being tortured. Wanda,—we shall be out of it. [The wine mounting to his head] We shall be free in the dark; free of their cursed inhumanities. I hate this world—I loathe it! I hate its God-forsaken savagery; its pride and smugness! Keith's world—all righteous will-power and success. We're no good here, you and I—we were cast out at birth—soft, will-less—better dead. No fear, Keith! I'm staying indoors. [He pours wine into two glasses] Drink it up!
[Obediently WANDA drinks, and he also.]
Now go and make yourself beautiful.
WANDA. [Seizing him in her arms] Oh, Larry!
LARRY. [Touching her face and hair] Hanged by the neck until he's dead—for what I did.
[WANDA takes a long look at his face, slips her arms from him, and goes out through the curtains below the fireplace.] [LARRY feels in his pocket, brings out the little box, opens it, fingers the white tabloids.]
LARRY. Two each—after food. [He laughs and puts back the box] Oh! my girl!
[The sound of a piano playing a faint festive tune is heard afar off. He mutters, staring at the fire.] [Flames-flame, and flicker-ashes.]
"No more, no more, the moon is dead, And all the people in it."
[He sits on the couch with a piece of paper on his knees, adding a few words with a stylo pen to what is already written.] [The GIRL, in a silk wrapper, coming back through the curtains, watches him.]