“Fate, fate,” she sobbed, convulsively, wringing her hands.
“Fate,” repeated Andrea, bitterly. “We should never have loved each other. Now it is too late to draw back; you are mine.”
“Oh, Caterina! oh, Alberto!” she exclaimed, weeping.
“It is fate, Lucia.”
“My husband, my dearest friend!” Sobs rent her bosom.
“I tell you again, your heart is too big. I love you and you only: you shall only love me.”
“What torture, Andrea!”
“Have you not said, hundreds of times, 'take me away?’ Now I am ready to take you away.”
“You will take a corpse with you, pale with remorse.”
“Then let us content ourselves with hypocrisy, with such love as suffices to others; yet that is what you cannot tolerate.”