David:
Come here, Marie. Come. Look in the mirror. You're beautiful. Perhaps even more than when we were together. But you've changed and I want you to see how. Now your eyes cast quick, calculating, side glances. You used to look ahead straightforwardly, openly, without disguise. Your mouth has a slightly hungry, dissatisfied expression. It used to be so soft. Your complexion is pale now. You wear makeup. Your fine, wide brow has four lines above each eye now. You can't see them in this light, but you can in the bright of day. You know what caused those lines?
Maria:
No.
David:
Indifference. And this fine contour from your ear to your chin is no longer so finely drawn - the result of too much comfort and laziness. And there, by the bridge of your nose. Why do you sneer so often? You see that? You sneer too often. You see it? And look under your eyes. The sharp, scarcely noticeable wrinkles from your boredom and impatience.
Maria:
Can you really see all that there?
David:
No, but I feel it when you kiss me.
Maria:
I think you're joking with me. I know where you see it.
David:
Where?
Maria:
In yourself. Because you and I are so alike.
David:
You mean in our selfishness, coldness and indifference?
