"Being sorry isn't enough," she told him. "Look at yourself. Clothes dirty. No shave. Sick. Head big."
"Drunk, that's all."
"No, it isn't all. Those terrible people … those boys … can't you see they are not fit to breathe the same air you do?"
"My friends," he muttered.
"Your enemies. You must hate them, not yourself."
The cab entered the park.
"Where'll I go?" the chauffeur asked.
"Just drive around and around," she said. Then to Ken: "Darling, I nearly went crazy when I knew you had gone back to them. I was afraid you'd got the way you were that night.
"I want you to listen to me. Let me talk. Hear my voice. Listen. You're never going back to them. You are going to stay with me."
"But I …"
"Either that or you go to an asylum. And that would kill you. Ken, darling, it's all very simple, really simple. You are sick. Just sick. I tried to cure you. It isn't just being drunk. It's the other thing, the being queer.
"I don't believe you are queer. I see something in you so precious and so rare, I want to save it. You're a sweet boy, a lovable creature. You need me, a self-sufficient woman. We can go where we please, do what we please."
"Do what we please?"
"Yes. And forever. No money worries. The world to live in. Everything."
"Everything," he repeated.
"We've got to leave at once. Leave New York. Will you?"
