SOPHIE. Well, I suppose he might.
Beat.
You’re so – you’re so clear. You seem so clear about things. Whereas I’m – I’m so – I can never quite say what I’m – even to myself, I’m so inarticulate. (Beat.) Some nights I lie awake and I go over the things I’ve said. Confidently. The things I’ve said confidently and they – they fall to pieces. (Beat.) And where there were words there is now just – just this feeling of – of impossibility. That everything is – there’s no way through it – (Beat.) I used to feel that way when I was very small. That same feeling. Not a childish feeling – well, maybe. As if I was choking on – as if life was coming down on me and I couldn’t see my way through it. What does a child who has everything suffer from? Who could name it? I can’t. I can’t. (Breaking.) But it was a – a sort of – I used to see it in my head as jungle. Around me. Surrounding me. Some darkness growing, something – organic, alive – and the only thing that kept me – kept me – here – was the picture of Honor and of George. Silly. (Beat.) Because I’m old now and I shouldn’t remember that anymore. Lying in bed and feeling that they were there: outside the room in all their – their warmth, their – a kind of charm to them. Maybe you’re right and it was – not so simple as it looked, but they gave such a strong sense of – love for each other and inside that – I felt – I felt loved. And since I’ve gotten older I don’t feel – (Weeping.) I feel as if all that – all the – everything