"You die, Man."
"All men die."
"Not as they die who are mine."
"I am not yours. You kill me, as a wild beast might. But I am not yours; not dying nor dead am I yours."
"Would you not live, pygmy?"
"Not as your pensioner."
The logs on the hearth crackled and sank down with a soft rustle, burned through to a core of glowing red. Phillida spoke with a hushed urgency, drawing still closer to her husband, so that her forehead rested against his shoulder.
"Go on, Ethan. Finish and let us be done."
Vere bent his head above the book on the table to obey her. Across the dark I suddenly saw the Eyes glare in upon him.
"On the next page, the writing begins again," he said. "It says: