But when she knows she is choking him, that knowledge is
fire burning its way into the last passion_) It _is_ you. It is you.
TOM: (_words coming from a throat not free_) Claire! What are you doing?
(_then she knows what she is doing_)
CLAIRE: (_to his resistance_) No! You are _too much_! You are _not
enough_. (_still wanting not to hurt her, he is slow in getting free. He
keeps stepping backward trying, in growing earnest, to loosen her hands.
But he does not loosen them before she has found the place in his throat
that cuts off breath. As he gasps_)
Breath of Life--my gift--to you!
(_She has pushed him against one of the plants at right as he sways,
strength she never had before pushes him over backward, just as they
have struggled from sight. Violent crash of glass is heard._)
TOM: (_faint smothered voice_) _No_. I'm--hurt.
CLAIRE: (_in the frenzy and agony of killing_) Oh, gift! Oh, gift!
(_there is no sound._
CLAIRE _rises--steps back--is seen now; is looking down_) Gift.
(_Like one who does not know where she is, she moves into the
room--looks around. Takes a step toward Breath of Life; turns and goes
quickly to the door. Stops, as if stopped. Sees the revolver where the
Edge Vine was.
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