Say good bye, but do the rest also.

You are free now.

You are an honourable man again.
Bosio, look at my hair.

You used to love it.

Would you have it cut off and cropped by the convict's shears?
My hands that you are holding--dear--would you love them galled by the irons, riveted upon them for years?
Save me, Bosio! You are free now--save me, for the dear sake of all that has been!" Still she turned her face away, and as Bosio saw the waving richness of her brown hair and heard her words, he felt a desperate thrust of pain in his heart.