35/39 Let me but speak one word to her. Not a syllable; the tongue's a weapon you always have the worst at. For I see you have no guard, and she carries a devilish edge. My lord, don't let anything I've said frighten you away; for if you have the least inclination to stay and rail, you know the old conditions; 'tis but your asking me pardon next day, and you may give your passion any liberty you think fit. Daggers and death! [What a picturesque, old-fashioned oath, is it not? |