Long Day's Journey Into Night
[Mary] has hidden deeper within herself and found refuge and release in a dream where present reality is but an appearance to be accepted and dismissed unfeelingly – even with a hard cynicism – or entirely ignored. There is at times an uncanny gay, free youthfulness in her manner, as if in spirit she were released to become again, simply and without self-consciousness, the naïve, happy, chattering schoolgirl of her convent days. (3.1.opening stage directions)
It's the foghorn I hate. It won't let you alone. It keeps reminding you, and warning you, and calling you back.
She smiles strangely.
But it can't tonight. It's just an ugly sound. It doesn't remind me of anything. (3.1.9)
Mary! Can't you forget--?
With detached pity.
No, dear. But I forgive. I always forgive you. So don't look so guilty. (3.1.73-74)