He's sort of crucified on
an idea of the working people. It's rather horrible when he's
one's father.--However, apart from tragedy, how do you like being
here, in this house?
ANABEL. I like the house. It's rather too comfortable.
GERALD. Yes. But how do you like being here?
ANABEL. How do you like my being in your home?
GERALD. Oh, I think you're very decorative.
ANABEL. More decorative than comfortable?
GERALD. Perhaps. But perhaps you give the necessary finish to the
establishment.
ANABEL. Like the correct window-curtains?
GERALD. Yes, something like that. I say, why did you come, Anabel?
Why did you come slap-bang into the middle of us?--It's not
expostulation--I want to know.
ANABEL. You mean you want to be told?
GERALD. Yes, I want to be told.
ANABEL. That's rather mean of you. You should savvy, and let it go
without saying.
GERALD. Yes, but I don't savvy.
ANABEL. Then wait till you do.
GERALD. No, I want to be told. There's a difference in you, Anabel,
that puts me out, rather. You're sort of softer and sweeter--I'm not
sure whether it isn't a touch of father in you. There's a little
sanctified smudge on your face. Are you really a bit sanctified?
ANABEL. No, not sanctified. It's true I feel different. I feel I
want a new way of life--something more dignified, more religious, if
you like--anyhow, something POSITIVE.
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