For oh, the jealous fears that have defiled me,
The visions I have called a lie in vain,
The hot hands I have seen laid on your beauty!
[To her look of helplessness.
O say it! for you gaze—as if you could not!
As if ... O what is wringing you! You can
Not say it—that no arms but mine have held you,
No lips but mine have ever lingered, ever—?
[A pitiful cry of distress breaks from within, then a hurry of feet and Marina rushes on anguished.
Marina.