Darrell
[Turning to Marsden]
It’s for Nina. She’s got to get some sleep tonight.
[He sits down abruptly in the chair at center. Marsden unconsciously takes the Professor’s place behind the table. The two men stare at each other for a moment, Darrell with a frank probing, examining look that ruffles Marsden and makes him all the more resentful toward him]
This Marsden doesn’t like me . . . that’s evident . . . but he interests me . . . read his books . . . wanted to know his bearing on Nina’s case . . . his novels just well-written surface . . . no depth, no digging underneath . . . why? . . . has the talent but doesn’t dare . . . afraid he’ll meet himself somewhere . . . one of those poor devils who spend their lives trying not to discover which sex they belong to! . . .
Marsden
Giving me the fishy, diagnosing eye they practice at medical school . . . like freshmen from Ioway cultivating broad A’s at Harvard! . . . what is his specialty? . . . neurologist, I think . . . I hope not psychoanalyst . . . a lot to account for, Herr Freud! . . . punishment to fit his crimes, be forced to listen eternally during breakfast while innumerable plain ones tell him dreams about snakes . . . pah, what an easy cure-all! . . . sex the philosopher’s stone . . . “O Oedipus, O my king! The world is adopting you!” . . .
Darrell
Must pitch into him about Nina . . . have to have his help . . . damn little time to convince him . . . he’s the kind you have to explode a bomb under to get them to
