Violet:
Much rather. ’Twould prove you care!
Shakespeare:
Why do you shiver?
Violet:
We women feel the winter before it comes, like the birds.
Shakespeare:
Women! You sensitive child.
Violet:
Not a child when I think of you. I used to look at myself and imagine that some day a man would kiss me and play with me and make a toy of me, and I wondered whether I should like it; but I never dreamed that I would ever want to touch a man. But now, I love to be near you; my King, how good it is to be with you. But the winter’s coming. [Shivers.]