ABBESS. Hm!

STRANGER. Tell me, why will none of those people sit at the same
table with me? They're getting up ... going. ...

ABBESS. They seem to fear you.

STRANGER. Why?

ABBESS. You look so. ...

STRANGER. I? But what of them? Are they real?

ABBESS. If you mean true, they've a terrible reality. It may be
they look strange to you, because you're still feverish. Or there
may be another reason.

STRANGER. I seem to know them, all of them! I see them as if in a
mirror: they only make as if they were eating. ... Is this some
drama they're performing? Those look like my parents, rather like ...
(Pause.) Hitherto I've feared nothing, because life was useless to
me. ... Now I begin to be afraid.

ABBESS. If you don't believe them real, I'll ask the Confessor to
introduce you. (She signs to the CONFESSOR who approaches.)

CONFESSOR (dressed in a black-and-white habit of Dominicans).
Sister!