If I liked, she would go to the river and throw herself in.

She would give her life freely, gladly--if only I would not tell him.
So I sat holding, as it were, the passionate, aching heart in my hand.
"You must calm yourself," I said.

"Let us talk reasonably.

We cannot talk while you are like this." She beat her white hands together, and I could not still her cries; they were all for "Lance!"-- "her love, Lance!".