AMY. That wouldn't break my heart. You'd marry me, wouldn't you? We could go
away somewhere. I could be very fond of you, Henry.
TREBELL. [_Marvelling at these tangents._] Marry you! I should murder you in
a week.
_This sounds only brutal to her; she lets herself be shamed._
AMY. You've no more use for me than the use you've made of me.
TREBELL. [_Logical again._] Won't you realise that there's a third party to
our discussion ... that I'm of no importance beside him and you of very
little. Think of the child.