The Skin of Our Teeth by Thornton Wilder

every Saturday night. I never had enough to eat. He never let me have enough money to buy decent clothes. I was ashamed to go downtown. I never could go to the dances. My father and my uncle put rules in the way of everything I wanted to do. They tried to prevent my living at all.—I’m sorry. I’m sorry.
    MRS. ANTROBUS:
    Quickly.
    No, go on. Finish what you were saying. Say it all.
    HENRY:
    In this scene it’s as though I were back in High School again. It’s like I had some big emptiness inside me,—the emptiness of being hated and blocked at every turn. And the emptiness fills up with the one thought that you have to strike and fight and kill. Listen, it’s as though you have to kill somebody else so as not to end up killing yourself.
    SABINA:
    That’s not true. I knew your father and your uncle and your mother. You imagined all that. Why, they did everything they could for you. How can you say things like that? They didn’t lock you up.
    HENRY:
    They did. They did. They wished I hadn’t been born.
    SABINA:
    That’s not true.
    ANTROBUS:
    In his own person, with self-condemnation, but cold and proud.
    Wait a minute. I have something to say, too. It’s not wholly his fault that he wants to strangle me in this scene. It’s my fault, too. He wouldn’t feel that way unless there were something in me that reminded him of all that. He talks about an emptiness. Well, there’s an emptiness in me, too. Yes,—work, work, work,—that’s all I do. I’ve ceased to live. No wonder he feels that anger coming over him.
    MRS. ANTROBUS:
    There! At least you’ve said it.
    SABINA:
    We’re all just as wicked as we can be, and that’s the God’s truth.
    MRS. ANTROBUS:
    Nods a moment, then comes forward; quietly:
    Come. Come and put your head under some cold water.
    SABINA:
    In a whisper.
    I’ll go with him. I’ve known him a long while. You have to go on with the play. Come with me.
    HENRY starts out with SABINA , but turns at the exit and says to ANTROBUS :
    HENRY:
    Thanks. Thanks for what you said. I’ll be all right tomorrow. I won’t lose control in that place. I promise.
    Exeunt HENRY and SABINA .
    ANTROBUS starts toward the front door, fastens it.
    MRS. ANTROBUS : goes up stage and places the chair close to table.
    MRS. ANTROBUS:
    George, do I see you limping?
    ANTROBUS:
    Yes, a little. My old wound from the other war started smarting again. I can manage.
    MRS. ANTROBUS:
    Looking out of the window.
    Some lights are coming on,—the first in seven years. People are walking up and down looking at them. Over in Hawkins’ open lot they’ve built a bonfire to celebrate the peace. They’re dancing around it like scarecrows.
    ANTROBUS:
    A bonfire! As though they hadn’t seen enough things burning.—Maggie,—the dog died?
    MRS. ANTROBUS:
    Oh, yes. Long ago. There are no dogs left in Excelsior.—You’re back again! All these years. I gave up counting on letters. The few that arrived were anywhere from six months to a year late.
    ANTROBUS:
    Yes, the ocean’s full of letters, along with the other things.
    MRS. ANTROBUS:
    George, sit down, you’re tired.
    ANTROBUS:
    No, you sit down. I’m tired but I’m restless.
    Suddenly, as she comes forward:
    Maggie! I’ve lost it. I’ve lost it.
    MRS. ANTROBUS:
    What, George? What have you lost?
    ANTROBUS:
    The most important thing of all: The desire to begin again, to start building.
    MRS. ANTROBUS:
    Sitting in the chair right of the table.
    Well, it will come back.
    ANTROBUS:
    At the window.
    I’ve lost it. This minute I feel like all those people dancing around the bonfire—just relief. Just the desire to settle down; to slip into the old grooves and keep the neighbors from walking over my lawn.—Hm. But during the war,—in the middle of all that blood and dirt and hot and cold—every day and night, I’d have moments,