Wanda.  Promise me—­wherever you go, I go too.  Promise!  Larry, you think I haven’t seen, all these weeks.  But I have seen everything; all in your heart, always.  You cannot hide from me.  I knew—­I knew!  Oh, if we might go away into the sun!  Oh!  Larry—­couldn’t we? [She searches his eyes with hers—­then shuddering] Well!  If it must be dark—­I don’t care, if I may go in your arms.  In prison we could not be together.  I am ready.  Only love me first.  Don’t let me cry before I go.  Oh!  Larry, will there be much pain?

Larry. [In a choked voice] No pain, my pretty.

Wanda. [With a little sigh] It is a pity.

Larry.  If you had seen him, as I have, all day, being tortured.  Wanda,—­we shall be out of it. [The wine mounting to his head] We shall be free in the dark; free of their cursed inhumanities.  I hate this world—­I loathe it!  I hate its God-forsaken savagery; its pride and smugness!  Keith’s world—­all righteous will-power and success.  We’re no good here, you and I—­we were cast out at birth—­soft, will-less—­better dead.  No fear, Keith!  I’m staying indoors. [He pours wine into two glasses] Drink it up!

     [Obediently Wanda drinks, and he also.]

Now go and make yourself beautiful.

Wanda. [Seizing him in her arms] Oh, Larry!

Larry. [Touching her face and hair] Hanged by the neck until he’s dead—­for what I did.

     [Wanda takes a long look at his face, slips her arms from him,
     and goes out through the curtains below the fireplace.]

     [Larry feels in his pocket, brings out the little box, opens it,
     fingers the white tabloids.]

Larry.  Two each—­after food. [He laughs and puts back the box] Oh! my girl!

     [The sound of a piano playing a faint festive tune is heard afar
     off.  He mutters, staring at the fire.]

     [Flames-flame, and flicker-ashes.]

“No more, no more, the moon is dead, And all the people in it.”

     [He sits on the couch with a piece of paper on his knees, adding
     a few words with a stylo pen to what is already written.]

     [The girl, in a silk wrapper, coming back through the curtains,
     watches him.]

Larry. [Looking up] It’s all here—­I’ve confessed. [Reading]

“Please bury us together.” 
“Laurence Darrant. 
“January 28th, about six p.m.”

They’ll find us in the morning.  Come and have supper, my dear love.

     [The girl creeps forward.  He rises, puts his arm round her, and
     with her arm twined round him, smiling into each other’s faces,
     they go to the table and sit down.]