We seem so still here, don't we?
GERALD. Yes.
ANABEL. Don't you think we've been wrong?
GERALD. How?
ANABEL. In the way we've lived--and the way we've loved.
GERALD. It hasn't been heaven, has it? Yet I don't know that we've
been wrong, Anabel. We had it to go through.
ANABEL. Perhaps.--And, yes, we've been wrong, too.
GERALD. Probably. Only, I don't feel it like that.
ANABEL. Then I think you ought. You ought to feel you've been wrong.
GERALD. Yes, probably. Only, I don't. I can't help it. I think
we've gone the way we had to go, following our own natures.
ANABEL. And where has it landed us?
GERALD. Here.
ANABEL. And where is that?
GERALD. Just on this bench in the park, looking at the evening.
ANABEL. But what next?
GERALD. God knows! Why trouble?
ANABEL. One must trouble. I want to feel sure.
GERALD. What of?
ANABEL. Of you--and of myself.
GERALD. Then BE sure.
ANABEL. But I can't. Think of the past--what it's been.
GERALD. This isn't the past.
ANABEL. But what is it? Is there anything sure in it? Is there any
real happiness?
GERALD. Why not?
ANABEL. But how can you ask? Think of what our life has been.
GERALD. I don't want to.
ANABEL. No, you don't. But what DO you want?
GERALD. I'm all right, you know, sitting here like this.
ANABEL. But one can't sit here forever, can one?
GERALD.
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