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Rita.
[Advancing a pace towards him.] Tell me, Alfred—could you think of taking up your work again?
Allmers.
The work that you have hated so?
Rita.
I am easier to please now. I am willing to share you with the book.
Allmers.
Why?
Rita.
Only to keep you here with me—to have you near me.
Allmers.
Oh, it is so little I can do to help you, Rita.
Rita.
But perhaps I could help you.
Allmers.
With my book, do you mean?
Rita.
No; but to live your life.
Allmers.
[Shaking his head.] I seem to have no life to live.
Rita.
Well then, to endure your life.
