HARRY:  Chance for what?  I call you, Claire.  I ask you to say what you mean.

CLAIRE:  I don’t know—­precisely.  If I did—­there’d be no use saying it. (at HARRY’s impatient exclamation she turns to TOM)

TOM:  (nodding) The only thing left worth saying is the thing we can’t say.

HARRY:  Help!

CLAIRE:  Yes.  But the war didn’t help.  Oh, it was a stunning chance!  But fast as we could—­scuttled right back to the trim little thing we’d been shocked out of.

HARRY:  You bet we did—­showing our good sense.

CLAIRE:  Showing our incapacity—­for madness.

HARRY:  Oh, come now, Claire—­snap out of it.  You’re not really trying to say that capacity for madness is a good thing to have?

CLAIRE:  (in simple surprise) Why yes, of course.

DICK:  But I should say the war did leave enough madness to give you a gleam of hope.

CLAIRE:  Not the madness that—­breaks through.  And it was—­a stunning chance!  Mankind massed to kill.  We have failed.  We are through.  We will destroy.  Break this up—­it can’t go farther.  In the air above—­in the sea below—­it is to kill!  All we had thought we were—­we aren’t.  We were shut in with what wasn’t so.  Is there one ounce of energy has not gone to this killing?  Is there one love not torn in two?  Throw it in!  Now?  Ready?  Break up.  Push.  Harder.  Break up.  And then—­and then—­But we didn’t say—­’And then—­’ The spirit didn’t take the tip.

HARRY:  Claire!  Come now (looking to the others for help)—­let’s talk of something else.

CLAIRE:  Plants do it.  The big leap—­it’s called.  Explode their species—­because something in them knows they’ve gone as far as they can go.  Something in them knows they’re shut in to just that.  So—­go mad—­that life may not be prisoned.  Break themselves up into crazy things—­into lesser things, and from the pieces—­may come one sliver of life with vitality to find the future.  How beautiful.  How brave.

TOM:  (as if he would call her from too far—­or would let her know he has gone with her) Claire!

CLAIRE:  (her eyes turning to him) Why should we mind lying under the earth?  We who have no such initiative—­no proud madness?  Why think it death to lie under life so flexible—­so ruthless and ever-renewing?

ANTHONY:  (from the door of the inner room) Miss Claire?

CLAIRE:  (after an instant) Yes? (she goes with him, as they disappear his voice heard,’show me now ... want those violets bedded’)

HARRY:  Oh, this has got to stop.  I’ve got to—­put a stop to it some way.  Why, Claire used to be the best sport a man ever played around with.  I can’t stand it to see her getting hysterical.

TOM:  That was not hysterical.

HARRY:  What was it then—­I want to know?

TOM:  It was—­a look.