Make ends meet

Nay! Do not tremble, love! Let this hand - pressure, let this glance reveal

Feelings, all power of speech above; To give oneself up wholly and to feel A

joy that must eternal prove! Eternal! - Yes, its end would be despair. No end!

(Margaret presses his hand, extricates herself, and runs away. He stands a

moment in thought and then follows her).

I would entreat you longer yet to stay; But 'tis a wicked place, just here

about; It is as if the folk had nothing else to do, Nothing to think of too, But

gaping watch their neighbours, who goes in and out; And scandal's busy still,