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Elliot Weston: Look, I can understand that you felt irritated.Nancy Krieger Weston: Can you?Elliot Weston: I - why that tone? Why are you doing that?Nancy Krieger Weston: What tone?Elliot Weston: Everybody cares about you. Don't you know that?Nancy Krieger Weston: Then why won't anyone let me talk?Elliot Weston: They let you talk.Nancy Krieger Weston: No one will let me talk the way that I want to talk. Everyone expects me to be this graceful invalid, this cheerful cripple.Elliot Weston: No one thinks you're a cripple.Nancy Krieger Weston: Yeah, well maybe they should.Elliot Weston: Nobody expects you to be cheerful.Nancy Krieger Weston: Sure they do. You do. You're the worst.Elliot Weston: Nancy!Nancy Krieger Weston: [getting her sleeping socks on and pulling back the bedding] Look. Elliot, what has happened to me is horrible. It is filthy, it is disgusting. I am not gracious. I am not cheerful. I wish that you would understand that. I wish that somebody would just understand that. Seventy-seven percent, five years survival. The other twenty-three percent, dead. Horribly, painfully dead! I am not gracious, and I am not cheerful! Okay?Elliot Weston: Okay.Elliot Weston: [muttering under his breath as Nancy gets into bed behind him] Seventy-seven point six percent.Nancy Krieger Weston: [irritable] What?Elliot Weston: [correcting her] Seventy-seven point six percent, five year survival.Nancy Krieger Weston: Shut up now.[Nancy turns out the light. Elliot pushes back and lays next to her, folding his hands over his lap rather like a corpse, and just puts his head against her shoulder apologetically]

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