I want to lie upon the earth and know.
But—scratch a little dirt and make a flower;
Scratch a bit of brain—something like a poem. (covering her face)
Stop doing that. Help me stop doing that!
TOM: (and from the place where she had carried him)
Don't talk at all. Lie still and know—
And know that I am knowing.
CLAIRE:
Yes; but we are so weak we have to talk;
To talk—to touch.