GWEN: [violently] The world is full of mad people. Everywhere, mad people. Why do they have to live like that? Mad people, weird, sick, sordid people. How do they bear having no worthwhile aim? I’m tired to people who don’t want to improve. I’m sick to death of people who are happy to just stay in the mud, in the swamp, just thrashing about, who don’t try for a better life, to fight their way out with their bare hands. I hate them—they’re happy in their filthy little holes like that motel—that was a nightmare!—I hate them. They’re everywhere. Like ants, swarming everywhere, no direction, no ambition—

She stifles herself. Silence.

VIC: I think we should go for a walk.

GWEN: No.

VIC: Us girls. Along the water.

GWEN: No.

VIC: Just a stroll. Come on.

JIM: Go on. Breathe some sea air.

The women go. Silence for a while.

HARRY: Yes, you were lucky.

JIM: It was the girl’s idea completely. She… my wife, gave up. She was very upset. But the girl kept on at me. She didn’t let up until we were on that dirt road. She’s a handful.

Pause.

HARRY: This is a wonderful country. We’re still not used to a hot Christmas.

JIM: My wife is not really an angry woman. She has high hopes.