“Woman, I have been hard in the winning of you, but, God knows, you are something to me.”
“God knows, Gorlois, I hate you.”
His hand shook the door.
“Let me in, Igraine.”
“Break down the door; you shall come at me no other way.”
“Woman, woman, I am a fool; my heart smarts at leaving you.”
“You sound almost saintly.”
“I have left Brastias in charge of you.”
“Thanks, lord, for a jailer.”
Igraine drew back from the door and stood at her full height with her hands crossed upon her bosom. She quivered as she stood with the intense effort of her hate. Gorlois still waited without the door, though she could not hear him moving. The silence seemed like the deep hush that falls between the blustering stanzas of a storm.