Constance, you must be mad! Or are you so stupid as to think that just because we're alone here, there's nobody else in the room? Do you consider us so boring or so repulsive that of all the millions of beings, imaginary or otherwise, who are prowling about in space looking for a little company, there's not one who might possibly enjoy spending a moment with us? On the contrary, my dear--my house is full of guests, always. They know that here, at least, is one place in the universe where they can come when they're lonely and be sure of a welcome and a pleasant hour. And for my part, I'm delighted to have them. I know perfectly well that at this moment the whole universe is listening to us--and that every word we say echoes to the remotest star. To pretend otherwise would be the sheerest hypocrisy.
"We're actors... We pledged our identities, secure in the conventions of our trade, that someone would be watching. And then, gradually, no one was. We were caught, high and dry. It was not until the murderer's long soliloquy that we were able to look around; frozen as we were in profile, our eyes searched you out, first confidently, then hesitantly, then desperately as each patch of turf, each log, every exposed corner in every direction proved uninhabited, and all the while the murderous King adressed the horizon with his dreary unterminable guilt..... Our heads began to move, weary as lizards, the corpse of unsullied Rosalinda peeped through his fingers, and the king faltered. Even then, then habit and a stubborn trust that our audience spied on us from behind the nearest bush, forced our bodies to blunder on long after they had emptied of meaning, until like runaway carts they dragged to a halt. No one came forward. No one shouted at us. The silence was unbreakable, it imposed itself on us; it was obscene. We took off our crowns and swords and cloth of gold and moved silently on the road to Elsinore."