Wife. Neither yesterday, nor to-day, nor for the last week—O God! it is now almost a whole month since you have, of your own accord, addressed a single word to me—and every one says I am growing so pale and thin!
The Man (aside). The hour is here—nothing can delay it longer.
(To his wife.)
Indeed, on the contrary, I think you are looking remarkably well.
Wife. Alas! it is a matter of perfect indifference to you; you never even see me! When I come near you, Henry, you turn your head away; and if I sit down beside you, you cover your face with your hands.
I went to confession yesterday, and carefully thought overall my faults and follies—but I could not remember in what way I had so grievously offended you.
The Man. You have not offended me.
Wife. O God! My God!
The Man. I feel it is my duty to love you.
Wife. You kill me with the words my duty! Rather say at once, I do not love you—then I would at least know all—the worst!