Feel in my bosom the warm running blood
That neighbours yours.
Guenevere
I am wearied, wearied out.
I would forget, and cannot. My heart’s numbed
With aching like my body.
I thought that in these walls there should be peace.
Tell me, for you have eyes that understand
And seem to suffer, tell me the truth, Sister.
I know that it is sinful to remember,