Christine. Who are you?
Harlot. I am an outcast on whom has been fulfilled that curse which God hurled at woman after the fall of our first parents. Ask me no more, for if I told you more, your contempt would goad me to a self-defence that would be still more contemptible.—Here comes somebody who perhaps will be generous enough to escort you, if you promise to let him have your honor and virtue and eternal peace for his trouble—for that is probably the least he will accept for his protection at such a late hour as this! Please forgive me—it is not at you that I am railing.
[Enter Windrank, intoxicated.]
Windrank. Why the devil can't a fellow be left alone, even here among the corpses? See here, my good ladies, please don't ask me anything, for now I can't guarantee that I won't answer. The day after to-morrow I'll tell you all about it, for then it'll be too late. Perhaps you're some of those nuns that have been made homeless? Well, although women are nothing but women, I don't think I have any right to be impolite, for all that the sun set long ago. Of course, there is an old law saying that nobody can be arrested after sunset, but though the law is a bugbear, I think it's too polite to insist on anything when it's a question of ladies. Hush, hush, tongue! Why, the old thing is going like a spinning-wheel, but that comes from that infernal gin! Why should I be dragged into this kind of thing? Of course, I'll get well paid and be a man of means, but don't believe that I am doing it for the sake of the money! It's done now, but I don't want to—I don't want to! I want to sleep in peace nights and have no ghosts to trouble me. Suppose I goo and tell? No, then they'll arrest me. Suppose somebody else would go and tell? Perhaps one of you nuns might be so kind as to do it?
Christine (who has been conferring with the Harlot). If you have anything on your conscience that troubles you, please tell us.
Windrank. Am I to tell? That's just what I want to get out of, but this is horrible, and I can't stand it any longer. I am forced to do it. Why should I be the one? I don't want to.
Christine. My dear man, you mean to commit—
Windrank. A murder. Who told you? Well, thank God that you know! By all means, go ahead and tell about it—at once—or I'll have no peace—no peace in all eternity!
Christine (recovering from the first shock). Why should you murder him?
Windrank. Oh, there are such a lot of reasons. Just look at the way he is tearing down your nunneries.