ANATHEMA.
Steps aside.
But make haste, David; they are near.
DAVID.
Do you hear? They are coming. I love them, but my love is bitterer than hatred, and it is as powerless as indifference. Kill me, and meet them yourself. Kill me—and meet them with mercy, with love. Fertilize the hungry earth with my body and grow bread upon it, drown sorrow with my soul and grow laughter upon it. And joy, O Lord, joy for mankind....
The approach of an enormous mob is heard.
ANATHEMA.
Advancing.
Quicker, David, quicker,—they are approaching.
DAVID.