Exactly, Watson. Pathetic and futile. But is not all life pathetic and futile? Is not his story a microcosm of the whole? We reach. We grasp. And what is left in our hands at the end? A shadow. Or worse than a shadow - misery.
[JO watches her go, leaning against the doorpost. Then she looks round the room, smiling a little to herself -- she remembers GEOF.]JO: As I was going up Pippin Hill, Pippin Hill was dirty. And there I met a pretty miss, And she dropped me a curtsy. Little miss, pretty miss, Blessings light upon you. If I had half a crown a day, I'd gladly spend it on you. Curtain.