Won't they be, too--real? Too personal? Won't you feel more
at liberty with yourself if you create your own atmosphere?
JEAN
Ah, they are real enough! That table is a winter in Munich; the samovar is
Warsaw one night in May; the lucerna is Rome ... and all that those places
mean to me. I never realized how _things_ could be _alive_--be
personal--until I was left all alone in the midst of these.
VERA
There, don't you see? They're so _dominating_. I knew you before all
this.... I wish you would get away--be _yourself_.
JEAN
No. I shall stay here. As close as possible.
VERA
But really, Jean! I'm thinking of your work. Perhaps you don't appreciate
what an insidious drug memory can be. Especially the memory of
unhappiness. Let's be frank, Jean, for the sake of your future. You _have_
been unhappy.
JEAN
Unhappy? Yes, I have been outrageously unhappy! Years of it! Sharp arrows
and poisoned wine. I wanted to die....
VERA
_Jean!_
JEAN
You read a play by Strindberg, and you say it's very strong, very
artistic, but all the while you believe it is only the nightmare of a
diseased mind.
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