Whether you will, or not, I shall be yours.

You may make a prisoner of me--I shall be in your keeping then, and shall know it, and feel it, and love my prison for your sake, even if you will not let me see you.

If you would escape from me, you must kill me, as Israel Kafka means to kill me now--and then, I shall die by your hand and my life will have been yours and given to you.

How can you think that I have no hope! I have hope--and certainty, for I shall be near you always to the end--always, always, always! I will cling to you--as I do now--and say, I love you, I love you--yes, and you will cast me off, but I will not go--I will clasp your feet, and say again, I love you, and you may spurn me--man, god, wanderer, devil,--whatever you are--beloved always! Tread upon me, trample on me, crush me--you cannot save yourself, you cannot kill my love!" She had tried to take his hand and he had withdrawn his, she had fallen upon her knees, and as he tried to free himself had fallen almost to her length upon the marble floor, clinging to his very feet, so that he could make no step without doing her some hurt.

He looked down, amazed and silent, and as he looked she cast one glance upward to his stern face, the bright tears streaming like falling gems from her unlike eyes, her face pale and quivering, her rich hair all loosened and falling about her.
And then, neither body, nor heart, nor soul, could bear the enormous strain that was laid upon them.