. . a relic! An
eunuch! They mumble their incantations over you . . . the spell is
done, and you sink back, cowed and whimpering! You are a machine, a
domestic utensil! Never again are you to love and to dare to create
No, there are other things in life for you . . . bread and butter,
cooks and dinner parties, billiards and bridge-whist . . . that is
your portion! A married man!
LETITIA. [Terrified.] Henry! For God's sake!
[He no longer returns her embraces, but stares at Oceana, fascinated.]
OCEANA. Don't you see, man? It's a dream! A nightmare! Rouse yourself,
lift your head . . . and it's gone! Life is calling! Come away!
LETITIA. [Frantically.] Mother! Mother!
MRS. MASTERSON. Quincy, if you can't stop this outrage, I will! Call
the servants.
[She starts toward Oceana.]
OCEANA. Call the police! Call your guests! Anything . . . bring the
world down on him. Terrify him with conventions, beat him into
subjection again!
MRS. MASTERSON. Wanton!
OCEANA. Wanton! Oh, how well you understand me! I, with my hunger for
righteousness . . . I, who have disciplined myself as an anchorite,
who have served as a priestess of life! And you, with your formulas
and your superstitions . . . you pass judgment upon me! [With terrific
energy.] See! This man and I, we are the gateway to the future! And
you seek to bar it! By what right do you stand in the path of
posterity . . . you tormentors of the ideal, you assassins of human
hope!
MRS.
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