SWEDEN:
(screams, sits up)
The tent’s moving!
The tent’s moving!
ABE:
The tent is not moving. It is swaying in the
wind, that is all. Remember, old friend—
she’s a Gypsy tent. And a Gypsy tent never
comes down. Now lay down....
SWEDEN listens intently. He lies down again, tossing about on his cork mattress. At last he grows calmer and lays still. His breathing becomes regular and he might almost be sle- eping. He rolls over abruptly.
SWEDEN:
What was that?
Nothing has sounded beyond the wind and the rain.
ABE:
It’s nothing. You’re in shock, perhaps. Try
to sleep.
SWEDEN:
But....
He trails off, then rolls onto his side, puffs up his pillow, slams his head upon it. ABE stares at the ceiling, at the shadows of the willows, which seems to arch and undulate over the billowing
