hands.

STRANGER. I'm used to waiting, for what never comes. ...

DOCTOR (to the MADMAN). Come along, Caesar. I must lock you up in
the cellar. (He goes out with the MADMAN.)

STRANGER (to the LADY). What does that mean? Someone's pursuing me!
You told me your husband was well disposed towards me, and I
believed you. But he can't open his mouth without wounding me.
Every word pricks like a goad. Then this funeral march ... it's
really being played! And here, once more, Christmas roses! Why does
everything follow in an eternal round? Dead bodies, beggars,
madmen, human destinies and childhood memories? Come away. Let me
free you from this hell.

LADY. That's why I brought you here. Also that it could never be
said you'd stolen the wife of another. But one thing I must ask
you: can I put my trust in you?

STRANGER. You mean in my feelings?

LADY. I don't speak of them. We're taking them for granted. They'll
endure as long as they'll endure.

STRANGER. You mean in my position? Large sums are owed me. All I
have to do is to write or telegraph. ...

LADY. Then I will trust you. (Putting away her work.) Now go
straight out of that door. Follow the syringa hedge till you