“Oh! please don’t lose yourself in a wilderness of secondary considerations,” she said. "My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. She was standing there, smiling at the audience as at her friends. To wait for hours and hours for the night! The sea empty for days! You forgot the monotony, the endless monotony, that bends you and breaks you and crushes you—you forgot that!" Her voice had steadily risen until it was charged with passionate anger. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings.
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