LADY. You've had everything and yet are not content?

STRANGER. That is the curse. ...

LADY. Don't say that! But why haven't you desired things that
transcend this life, that can never be sullied?

STRANGER. Because I doubt if there is a beyond.

LADY. But the elves?

STRANGER. Are merely a fairy story. (Pointing to a seat.) Shall we
sit down?

LADY. Yes. Who are you waiting for?

STRANGER. Really, for the post office to open. There's a letter for
me--it's been forwarded on but hasn't reached me. (They sit down.)
But tell me something of yourself now. (The Lady takes up her
crochet work.)

LADY. There's nothing to tell.

STRANGER. Strangely enough, I should prefer to think of you like
that. Impersonal, nameless--I only do know one of your names. I'd
like to christen you myself--let me see, what ought you to be
called? I've got it. Eve! (With a gesture towards the wings.)
Trumpets! (The funeral march is heard again.) There it is again!
Now I must invent your age, for I don't know how old you are. From
now on you are thirty-four--so you were born in sixty-four.