Take a look at this beautiful young creature. Sentenced…(Continuing.)…to silence. Numb as a stone. Dumb as toast. Where’s the fairness in that? Look at my daughter—Sally—look at her. You know about her, don’t you? Or has she told you the whole story?

ROSCOE: Story?

MABLE: ’Course not. The “whole story” is something that eludes us, isn’t it? Where did you two meet, anyhow? You and Sally?

(LIZ, very quietly, begins to weep, her head still bowed, continuing to fold and unfold the napkin in her lap. MABLE ignores her. ROSCOE, keenly aware of LIZ, slowly stands, keeping his eyes riveted on LIZ as he talks to MABLE.)

ROSCOE: (Slowly standing.) Uh—I’m not sure now, talk show, I think it was. She was—interviewing me about—literature—

MABLE: (Oblivious to LIZ, who keeps sobbing.) Talk show—interview—of course—that’s where everyone meets these days, isn’t it? Talk shows—“reality shows”—tango contests—Facebook. The boredom is epidemic. Should never have raised her up in this godforsaken wasteland.

(LIZ weeps slightly louder—ROSCOE makes a little move toward her, then stops himself.)

Should’ve raised her in Nebraska—like Liz here. Sand Hills—salt of the earth. You don’t see Liz prancing around in her bra and panties. Do you? No, sir.

(LIZ keeps crying.)

ROSCOE: I thought you said she was from England.

MABLE: England? Not a bit of it. Liz is a child of the prairie. Aren’t you, Liz?

(LIZ nods, keeps weeping.)

Willa Cather. John Deere tractors. Tornado insurance.

ROSCOE: Oh—I thought you said northern England somewhere.

MABLE: Get the wax out of your ears, Roscoe. Listen up!

(Sudden silence except for LIZ, now softly weeping. This lasts for a while.)

(To ROSCOE.) You see what you miss when you don’t listen? When you have something always on your mind?

(ROSCOE’s attention is completely on LIZ while MABLE seems to be listening to the space at large. ROSCOE moves slowly toward LIZ, who keeps crying, head down, hands in her lap. He stops next to LIZ and starts to put his hand on her shoulder.)

ROSCOE: (To LIZ.) Miss?

MABLE: Don’t touch her!

(ROSCOE snaps his hand back but stays by LIZ, who continues softly crying.)

She’ll get over it. Always does. That’s the thing about these pioneer types. The ability to spring back in the face of terrible adversity. That’s not part of your character, though, is it, Mr. Hubbard? Resilience.

ROSCOE: I just don’t think there’s any reason to humiliate someone like that.

MABLE: Reason? You’re looking for a reason? (Pause as she studies him.) You’d crumble at the drop of a hat, wouldn’t you, Roscoe? Fragile as a skinny wafer. (Pause.) Liz, wheel me up to the edge there; my lookout spot. I’d like to gaze out into the abyss for a while.