Yes, my dear . . . I dare say . . .
OCEANA. Ah, you've never been there, or you wouldn't feel that way!
Picture it as it is at this moment . . . the broad white beach . . .
the sun setting and the clouds aflame . . . the great green breakers
rolling in . . . the frigate- birds calling . . . the palm trees
rustling in the wind! And you don't have to wrap yourself up in
clothes . . . you don't have to shut yourself up in houses! You plunge
through the surf, you dance upon the beach . . . naked . . .
MRS. MASTERSON. [Aghast.] My dear girl!
OCEANA. Oh, oh! That's so! I beg your pardon!
MRS. MASTERSON. [Coldly.] It will take you, a little while to get used
to civilized ways . . .
OCEANA. Oh, no, no, no! I know about that . . . I know how it is.
Father told me about Boston.
MRS. MASTERSON. My dear . . .
OCEANA. Don't worry about me. I'm really going to try to behave myself
. . . in every way. I want to get the right sort of clothes, you know.
I couldn't get them on my trip . . .
MRS. MASTERSON. It's just as well, my dear. You'd best have us attend
to that. You will need mourning for quite a while, you understand.
OCEANA. Mourning!
MRS. MASTERSON. Yes . . . for your grandfather.
OCEANA. But, my dear Aunt Sophronia, I couldn't possibly wear
mourning! No, no! I couldn't do that!
MRS. MASTERSON. [Astonished.] Why not?
OCEANA. In the first place, I never mourn.
MRS. MASTERSON. But your own grandfather, my dear!
OCEANA.
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