Yes.
OCEANA. If father had been here we should have sat us down to one of
our services! Look here. [She goes to trunk, and takes out a human
skull.] Ah, old friend!
ETHEL. [Shocked.] Oceana!
OCEANA. He came from the Marquesas, I think. And here's where he was
hit with the spear. You see? Sit down. [She places the skull before
her.] See, Ethel-- he used to smile. And now and then he had the
toothache . . . see that? He took himself very seriously; he was all
wrapped up in the things that went on in this little cracked skull.
But he lacked imagination. He never foresaw that somebody would carry
him off to the New Hampshire mountains, and make him the text for a
Hamlet soliloquy. Alas, poor Yorick! He did not know that he was
immortal, you see; that life proceeded from him . . . unrolling itself
for generation after generation without end; that all that he did
would be perpetuated . . . that where he sinned we would suffer, and
where he fought we would be strong. He did not know that he was the
creator, the mystic fountain of an unexplored stream . . . the maker
of an endless future . . . [She stops; a spasm of pain crosses her
face.] Oh, Ethel! [Clasps her hand.] It is terrible to die young, is
it not?
ETHEL. Yes.
OCEANA. Then how much worse is it to die before you are born! To be
strangled in the idea . . . to be stifled by a cowardly thought!
ETHEL. What do you mean?
OCEANA. Oh, Ethel, stay by me, will you? Promise me you will stay by
me.
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