for a long while now I’ve had a keen psychic intuition that I wasn’t born to die before—
[Evans and Madeline and Darrell come rushing out of the cabin. They all have binoculars. They run to the rail and train their glasses up the river]
Madeline
[Excitedly]
I see them!
[Grabbing his arm and pointing]
Look, Mr. Evans—there—don’t you see?
Evans
[Excitedly]
No—not yet— Yes! Now I see them!
[Pounding on the rail]
Come on, Gordon boy!
Madeline
Come on, Gordon!
[The whistles and sirens from the yachts up the river begin to be heard. This grows momentarily louder as one after another other yachts join in the chorus as the crews approach nearer and nearer until toward the close of the scene there is a perfect pandemonium of sound]
Nina
[With bitter hatred—thinking]
How I hate her! . . .
[Then suddenly with a deadly calculation—thinking]
Why not tell her? . . . as Sam’s mother told me? . . . of the insanity? . . . she thinks Gordon is Sam’s son. . . .
