MRS PATRICK: You call what you are life? (Laughs) Bleak as those ugly things that grow in the sand!

ALLIE MAYO: Ugly!

MRS PATRICK: I have known life. I have known life. You're like this Cape. A line of land way out to sea—land not life.

ALLIE MAYO: A harbor far at sea. Land that encloses and gives shelter from storm.

MRS PATRICK: (Facing the sea, as if affirming what will hold all else out) Outside sea. Outer shore. Dunes—land not life.

ALLIE MAYO: Outside sea—outer shore, dark with the wood that once was ships—dunes, strange land not life—woods, town and harbor. The line! Stunted straggly line that meets the Outside face to face—and fights for what itself can never be. Lonely line. Brave growing.

MRS PATRICK: It loses.

ALLIE MAYO: It wins.

MRS PATRICK: The farthest life is buried.

ALLIE