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: What's going to happen? Friedrich
: The inevitable.
: Jo. Such a little name for... such a person.
: But I have nothing to give you. My hands are empty.
[entwines her hands with his
: Not empty now.
: You must write from life, from the depths of your soul!
: Your heart understood mine. In the depth of the fragrant night, I listened with ravished soul to your beloved voice. Your heart understood mine.
: [having read Jo's latest book
] There is *nothing* in this of the woman I am privileged to know.
: I am going to the west. They need teachers and they are not so concerned about the accent. Jo March
: I don't mind it either.
: You know, when first I saw you I thought "ah, she is a writer". Jo
: What made you think so?
[Friedrich indicates her inky fingers
: Friedrich, this is what I write. My apologies if it fails to live up to your high standards. Friedrich Bhaer
: Jo, there is more to you than this. If you have the courage to write it.
: I don't have an opera dress. Friedrich Bhaer
: Where we are sitting, we shall not be so... formal.
: You do not take wine? Jo
: Only medicinally. Friedrich Bhaer
: Pretend you've got a cold.
] Prof. Bhaer
: Oh, please, please... just, just one moment, before... I have a wish to ask you something. Would you... Oh, I-I... I have no courage to think that... but, but, but, could I dare hope that... I? I... I know I, I shouldn't make so free as to ask. I have nothing to give, but my heart so full and... and these empty hands. Jo March
: [taking his hands in hers
] Not empty now. Prof. Bhaer
: Oh, heart's dearest!
] Jo March
: [drawing him into the house
] Welcome home!