INEZ: Yes, we are criminals--murderers--all three of us. We're in hell, my pets; they never make mistakes, and people aren't damned for nothing.
ESTELLE: Stop! For heaven's sake--
INEZ: In hell! Damned souls--that's us, all three!
ESTELLE: Keep quiet! I forbid you to use such disgusting words.
INEZ: A damned soul--that's you, my little plaster saint. And ditto our friend there, the noble pacifist. We've had our hour of pleasure, haven't we? There have been people who burned their lives out for our sakes--and we chuckled over it. So now we have to pay the reckoning.
GARCIN [raising his fist]: Will you keep your mouth shut, damn it!
INEZ [confronting him fearlessly, but with a look of vast surprise]: Well, well! [A pause.] Ah, I understand now. I know why they've put us three together.
GARCIN: I advise you to--to think twice before you say any more.
INEZ: Wait! You'll see how simple it is. Childishly simple. Obviously there aren't any physical torments--you agree, don't you? And yet we're in hell. And no one else will come here. We'll stay in this room together, the three of us, for ever and ever. . . . In short, there's someone absent here, the official torturer.
l'enfer, c'est les autres . com
i am error . com
"Drunk at the matinee" is a collection of candid poetry about stupid shit that we all experience from day to day.
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