RECHA.
Of that
I am unconscious. All I could confess
Were, that it does seem strange unto myself,
How, in this bosom, such a pleasing calm
Can suddenly succeed to such a tossing.
DAYA.
His countenance, his speech, his manner, has
By this the satiated thee.
RECHA.
Satiated,
I will not say—not by a good deal yet.
DAYA.
But satisfied the more impatient craving.
RECHA.
Well, well, if you must have it so.