"Can't you imagine?"
"I have no imagination."
"And your heart—does your heart tell you nothing, Laura? Laura, Laura, does your conscience tell you nothing?"
"Nothing," said the other quietly, lifting up the rich blonde hair behind her ears. The same gesture that Anna had seen her make in Cesare's room.
"Laura, you are my husband's mistress," Anna said, raising her arms towards heaven.
"You're mad, Anna."
"My husband's mistress, Laura."
"You're mad."
"Oh, liar, liar! Disloyal and vile woman, who has not even the courage of her love!" cried Anna, starting up, with flaming eyes.
"Beware, Anna, beware. Strong language at a moment like this is dangerous. Say what you've got to say clearly; but don't insult me. Don't insult me, because your diseased imagination happens to be excited. Do you understand?"