Fulvia: It stains too as a shroud
The morrow's face?
Helena: You look at me—I think
You look at me, as if——?
Fulvia: No child.
Helena: Why am
I in this place? You fear for me?
Fulvia: Fear?
Helena: Yes!
A dumb dread trembles from you sufferingly.
Fulvia: It is not fear. Or—no!—has vanished quite,
Ashamed of its too naked idleness.
Helena (shuddering): He cannot, will not!—Yet you feared!
Fulvia: Be calm:
Beauty is better so.
Helena: Ah, you are cold!
See a great shadow reach and wrap at me,
Yet lend no light! By gentleness I pray you,
What said he?