Look Back In Anger By John Osborn

JIMMY: Peace! God! She wants peace! (Hardly able to get his words out.) My heart is so full, I feel ill — and she wants peace!
She crosses to the bed to put on her shoes. Cliff gets up from the table and sits in the armchair. He picks up a paper and looks at that. Jimmy has recovered slightly, and manages to sound almost detached.
I rage, and shout my head off, and everyone thinks, “poor chap!” or “what an objectionable young man!” But that girl there can twist your arm off with her silence. I’ve sat in this chair in the dark for hours. And, although she knows I’m feeling as I feel now, she’s turned over and gone to sleep. One of us is crazy. One of us is mean and stupid and crazy. Which is it? Is it me? Is it me, standing here like an hysterical girl, hardly able to get my words out? Or is it her? Sitting there, putting on her shoes to go out with that — (But inspiration has deserted him by now) Which is it?
Cliff is still looking down at his paper.
I wish to heaven you’d try loving her, that’s all.
He moves up to centre, watching her look for her gloves.
Perhaps, one day, you may want to come back. I shall wait for that day. I want to stand up in your tears, and splash about in them, and sing. I want to be there when you grovel. I want to be there, I want to watch it, I want the front seat.
Helena enters, carrying two prayer books.
I want to see your face rubbed in the mud — that’s all I can hope for. There’s nothing else I want any longer.