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86 pages, Paperback
First published December 4, 2005
🔸 Denham. (with a reckless bitterness) Yes, that's the devil of it. You have put me out of conceit with love. Your chamber of horrors haunts my imagination. If a woman could give us all she promises, we should be like gods. But she can't. Why should we worry about it? Why ask for cakes and ale, when sermons and soda-water are so much better for us?
🔸Mrs. Denham. (She pours the contents of the bottle into the cup.) The Black Cat had a friend; I am not so fortunate. It is a survival of the fittest, I suppose. The world was made for the sleek and treacherous. (She replaces the bottle in the cupboard, then returns, and lays the keys on the table.) Yes, my little Undine, mother is tired too—so tired! Oh, sleep, sleep! If it were but eternal sleep—if I could be sure I should never wake again! No more life. And yet I want to live. Oh, my God, I want to live!