“My God, Igraine, I stifle!”
“Don’t leave me, don’t send me away.”
“What can I say to you?”
“Only look into my eyes again.”
Pelleas put his fists before his face; the girl felt him quiver, and he seemed to twist in an agony like a man dangling on a rope. Igraine’s hands crept to his shoulders; she drew herself by his body as by a pillar till her face met his and she lay heavy upon his breast.
“Pelleas!”
Her breath was on his lips, and her hair flooded over his hands like golden wine.
“Pelleas, Pelleas!”
The words came with a windless whisper.
“Have pity, Igraine.”