the moment—­(music has begun—­a phonograph downstairs; they do not heed it) Just as I would cut my wrists—­(holding them out) Yes, perhaps this lesser thing will tell it—­would cut my wrists and let the blood flow out till all is gone if my last drop would make—­would make—­(looking at them fascinated) I want to see it doing that!  Let me give my last chance for life to—­

(He snatches her—­they are on the brink of their moment; now that there are no words the phonograph from downstairs is louder.  It is playing languorously the Barcarole; they become conscious of this—­they do not want to be touched by the love song.)

CLAIRE:  Don’t listen.  That’s nothing.  This isn’t that, (fearing) I tell you—­it isn’t that.  Yes, I know—­that’s amorous—­enclosing.  I know—­a little place.  This isn’t that, (her arms going around him—­all the lure of ‘that’ while she pleads against it as it comes up to them) We will come out—­to radiance—­in far places (admitting, using) Oh, then let it be that!  Go with it.  Give up—­the otherness.  I will!  And in the giving up—­perhaps a door—­we’d never find by searching.  And if it’s no more—­than all have known, I only say it’s worth the allness! (her arms wrapped round him) My love—­my love—­let go your pride in loneliness and let me give you joy!

TOM:  (drenched in her passion, but fighting) It’s you. (in anguish) You rare thing untouched—­not—­not into this—­not back into this—­by me—­lover of your apartness.

(She steps back.  She sees he cannot.  She stands there, before what she wanted more than life, and almost had, and lost.  A long moment.  Then she runs down the stairs.)

CLAIRE:  (her voice coming up) Harry!  Choke that phonograph!  If you want to be lewd—­do it yourselves!  You tawdry things—­you cheap little lewd cowards, (a door heard opening below) Harry!  If you don’t stop that music, I’ll kill myself.

(far down, steps on stairs)

HARRY:  Claire, what is this?

CLAIRE:  Stop that phonograph or I’ll—­

HARRY:  Why, of course I’ll stop it.  What—­what is there to get so excited about?  Now—­now just a minute, dear.  It’ll take a minute.

(CLAIRE comes back upstairs, dragging steps, face ghastly.  The amorous song still comes up, and louder now that doors are open.  She and TOM do not look at one another.  Then, on a languorous swell the music comes to a grating stop.  They do not speak or move.  Quick footsteps—­HARRY comes up.)

HARRY:  What in the world were you saying, Claire?  Certainly you could have asked me more quietly to turn off the Victrola.  Though what harm was it doing you—­way up here? (a sharp little sound from CLAIRE; she checks it, her hand over her mouth.  HARRY looks from her to TOM) Well, I think you two would better have had your dinner.  Won’t you come down now and have some?