Ursus
Westward.
Gwymplane [with tenderness]
Dear Ursus, you were leaving your country and going to face old age among customs, languages, peoples, strange to you, and to save us from the talons of a pack of cards.
Ursus
You and I are going now, Gwymplane.
Gwymplane
I think I have no more knack for wearing costumes and masks, and I could not ask human beings to accept me as I am, either inside or out. Any reality is like a row of knives and each minute drags me backward and forward across them.
[He seems to commune upon and decide something within himself. His voice breaks clearly over a long pause.]
Good-night, Ursus, I am going up into the prow to seek some fresher air.