THE RETURN OF THE SOLDIER
Margaret : Yes. And how cross you were when they tried to tip you for pushing the boat off?
Chris : Yes. Fifteen years ago . . . and it’s so much nearer than all this. That was the evening that I told you I loved you. . . . Oh, Margaret.
Margaret : Chris, dear.
Chris : Sit down again. Let’s be quiet . . . quiet . . . and think . . . not talk. I only want to be by you, that’s all . . . just to know that you’re there, beside me.
[Margaret sits again and he lies on the floor at her feet.
You’re all I’ve got to hold on to in life. There’s nothing wrong in it, is there? Is there?
Margaret (weakly) : I don’t know, Chris.
Chris : I’m happy, like this . . . just to be here with you. There can’t be anything wrong in that. She couldn’t grudge me that . . . she couldn’t.
[He puts his head in her lap.
She strokes his hair in silence for a while.
Margaret : It’s queer . . . us being here together . . . in this room. I’ve never known you in a house like this. It doesn’t seem to fit.
Chris : Margaret . . . it’s summer . . . a summer evening down at Monkey Island, with the twilight falling . . . and the bats wheeling in the half-light outside. Can you hear the river? This is the little parlour at the inn . . . and we’re
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