Antoninus: Up! Let me scourge them from our holy place.
Satan: Wait, brother, they are far off yet. But you would not scourge them, you would not scourge them, they are so ... Ah! one has torn her dress!
Antoninus: Ah, let me scourge her!
Satan: No, no, brother. See, I can see her ankle through the rent. You would not scourge her. Your great scourge would break that little ankle.
Antoninus: I will have my scourge ready, if she comes near our holy place.
Satan: She is with her comrades. They are maying. Seven girls. (Antoninus grips his scourge.) Her arms are full of may.
Antoninus: Speak not of such things. Speak not, I say.
[Satan is leaning leisurely against the wall, smiling through the window.
Satan: How the leaves are shining. Now she is seated on the grass. They have gathered small flowers, Antoninus, and put them in her hair, a row of primroses.
Antoninus (his eyes go for a moment on to far, far places. Unintentionally): What colour?