A little homesick. If it is less
sure this time, then it is going back to--Miss Lane. But if the
pattern's clearer now, then it has made friends of life that waits. I'll
know to-morrow.
ELIZABETH: You know, something tells me this is _wrong_.
CLAIRE: The hymn-singing ancestors are tuning up.
ELIZABETH: I don't know what you mean by that, mother but--
CLAIRE: But we will now sing, 'Nearer, my God, to Thee: Nearer to--'
ELIZABETH: (_laughingly breaking in_) Well, I don't care. Of course you
can make fun at me, but something does tell me this is wrong. To do
what--what--
DICK: What God did?
ELIZABETH: Well--yes. Unless you do it to make them better--to _do_ it
just to do it--that doesn't seem right to me.
CLAIRE: (_roughly_) 'Right to you!' And that's all you know of
adventure--and of anguish. Do you know it is you--world of which you're
so true a flower--makes me have to leave? You're there to hold the door
shut! Because you're young and of a gayer world, you think I can't _see_
them--those old men? Do you know why you're so sure of yourself? Because
you can't _feel_. Can't feel--the limitless--out there--a sea just over
the hill. I will not stay with you! (_buries her hands in the earth
around the Edge Vine.
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