So is the legend of my patron-saint.
Anyhow, whether, as Guido states the case,
Pompilia—like a starving wretch i' the street
Who stops and rifles the first passenger
In the great right of an excessive wrong—
Did somehow call this stranger and he came,—
Or whether the strange sudden interview
Blazed as when star and star must needs go close
Till each hurts each and there is loss in heaven—
Whatever way in this strange world it was,—