Duchess
[Drawing away from his straining arms and lips.]
You love me, you love me! But you do not talk to me as if you were a clown. You do not speak to me with those curiously pungent words that are flung between men and women in the thickets near the booths. [almost pettishly] You do not talk at all like a clown, Gwymplane.
Gwymplane
[His eyes slowly travelling over her body.]
I do not understand—I cannot understand why you permit my hands to touch you. Does not the flame from my hands burn you as they tremble and hover nearer, nearer to your scorching loveliness? But I think you are ivory, ivory dyed in hues of dawn and sunset.
Duchess
Ah, I wish you would not speak to me beautifully. I tell you beauty is not so dear to me as ugliness. O, Gwymplane [with a rather coarse gesture nudging his arm], O, Gwymplane, tell me of love as I want to hear of it, and I will love you better than all the rest!
Gwymplane
The rest? [he presses his hand to his temple] There are no rest. There was one—O God! I am lost! Nothing matters now [in a shrill voice]. I—I have found out what I can be!